


Affectionately Yours

by Iturbide



Series: Chrobin Week [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe, Assassination Attempt(s), Bigotry & Prejudice, Drama, Epistolary, M/M, Politics, Slow Build, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:40:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 59,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25571479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iturbide/pseuds/Iturbide
Summary: It all begins with a letter, penned by the sovereign of Plegia, inviting the Exalt of Ylisse to visit the halidom's western neighbor after fifteen years of peaceful silence.Unwilling to see his sister walk into what he's certain is a trap, Chrom agrees to go in her stead, and prepares himself to enter enemy lands.  But nothing is as he expected: not the ruse, not the enemy...and not the Plegian sovereign, Robin Fell.A love letter to Plegia, written for the2020 Chrobin Celebration on Tumblr
Relationships: Chrom/My Unit | Reflet | Robin, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Chrobin Week [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/829197
Comments: 88
Kudos: 184





	1. Weapons

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with another AU because I can't stop myself. What else is new. 
> 
> While [Chrobin Week](https://chrobinweek.tumblr.com/post/622540939457609728/is-chrobin-week-happening-this-year-i-havent) is delayed this year, there is a [Chrobin Celebration](https://sunbiased.tumblr.com/post/622477392462725120/chrobin-celebration-july-28th-august-4th) happening this week on Tumblr, and after glancing over the prompt list I realized I could make a coherent story out of it. So I did. ~~A long one because I have no concept of brevity.~~
> 
> The changes driving this AU are technically minor, but have profound impacts. Case in point: Validar decided to give being a _dad_ a try. As is fairly usual for me by now, worldbuilding takes center stage -- but this time we're diving straight in and giving Plegia the attention it rightly deserves but never got. And, as always, dashes (-) represent changes of scene.  
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

“Captain Chrom!!”

The prince whipped around so fast that the training dummy he’d been practicing on lost its head, and while he would normally have dreaded the imminent lecture from Frederick, the pegasus knights wheeling in for a landing demanded the whole of his attention. The first didn’t even bother waiting for her mount’s hooves to touch the ground, leaping from the saddle and striding toward him without missing a beat or waiting for her companion (who nearly took a tumble as she dismounted, despite waiting for her pegasus to safely land). “What’s the matter, Cordelia?” he asked, moving to meet her at the edge of the ring. “I thought you were out on patrol--”

“Plegians at the border, sir.”

His blood ran cold. “How many?”

“Three wyvern riders,” she replied. 

“Were they armed?”

“Only with riding gear and light weapons,” Sumia offered. “Like us, only with axes, not spears.”

“What did they want?”

“They bade us bring a message to the capital,” Cordelia said.

“What message?”

She shook her head, removing a folded piece of parchment from her satchel and offering it to him. “I was told to ensure it reached the Exalt. Nothing more,” she explained as he took it. 

“They seemed nice, though,” Sumia piped up from her place just beside and behind her fellow knight. “They hailed us from the sky and requested a landing -- their leader even offered me a hand when I tripped.”

“You really need to get a better pair of boots,” Chrom muttered, examining the six-eyed sigil stamped into the letter’s violet wax seal. “They didn’t say what it was about?”

Cordelia shook her head. “No, sir. But in case it’s an ill tiding, we thought it best to return without delay.” 

“Thank you,” Chrom nodded. “I’ll get it to her. Rest up, you’ve had a long flight.” And if this was what he feared, it would only be the first of many. 

They saluted as he turned away, striding from the training grounds to the courtyard, up the palace steps, and through the main hall of Ylisstol castle. “Emmeryn!” he called, jogging through the throne room’s open doors (and offering an apologetic nod to the line of people waiting for their chance at an audience). 

She looked up, her smile fading the instant she saw his expression. Begging the pardon of the woman she’d been hearing, the Exalt turned to her brother, opening her arms as he bounded up the steps to meet her. “What is it, Chrom?”

“A letter for you,” he replied, holding it up so that she alone could see the seal. 

Her gaze flicked between the parchment and the people standing in the hall beyond the threshold...and after a moment’s pause, she took the letter from his hands. “I beg your pardon, all of you,” she called, “but I’m afraid there’s an urgent matter I must attend. I will return as soon as I am able.” Touching Chrom’s arm, she hurried behind the throne, slipping through the well-concealed passage behind the tapestry on the wall; he followed without hesitation, leaning over her shoulder while she broke the wax and unfolded the parchment with trembling hands. 

To Her Grace Exalt Emmeryn of House Ylisse

We hope this message finds you in good spirits and good health, and pray that our words may add upon them rather than detract. For countless generations, our two nations have existed at odds, with conflicts and bloodshed too often defining the relationship between our lands; however, it is my hope that we can come together and change the course upon which our history runs. 

We wish to invite you into our lands that you might see Plegia in all of her beauty for yourself, and moreover that we might have an opportunity to discuss diplomatic ties that have long been neglected, including matters of alliance and trade. With the advent of spring and its thaw, Border Pass is now clear and safe for travel, and we will be able to meet and escort you to the capital city at your earliest convenience should you choose to accept. 

We eagerly await your response, and pray that together we might bring about a new era of peace between our two nations, forged in understanding and respect. 

Sincerely Yours,

Robin Fell, Sovereign of Plegia

Chrom felt his mouth go dry. “This is…”

 _“Incredible,”_ Emmeryn finished breathlessly. 

“Do they really think we’d fall for this?” Chrom scoffed. 

His sister drew a breath...and stopped, frowning up at him. “What do you mean, ‘fall for this’?”

“It’s obviously a trap.”

“And what makes you assume that.”

There was a note of danger in her voice, completely at odds with her usual calm. “The fact that they’re insisting you come to Plegia?”

“ _Inviting_ me to come,” she corrected. “Imagine, Chrom -- in our thousand year history, I don’t think an Ylissean Exalt has _ever_ been _invited_ into Plegia…”

“Emm, you know the history as well as I do. Setting foot across the border is as good as suicide.”

“Yes, I _do_ know the history,” she agreed, pressing the parchment to her breast. “Which is why I know that this _must_ be the way. Insisting they come here would be an egregious offense after what our father did, the atrocities he committed...they have no reason to trust us, and we no right to demand it of them.”

“Couldn’t we say the same?” Chrom pressed. “What reason do we have to trust them?”

“They never invaded our soil. They only ever defended themselves from invasion: we have far more reason to place our faith in them than they do to entrust their lives to us.”

“It just...why _now?_ It’s been fifteen years since the war ended. Why take so long reaching out? What do they want?”

“I’m fairly certain they want to open diplomatic discussions. As the letter stated,” she remarked pointedly. “And we have no idea what they’ve been going through since the war ended. Just as I tried to focus on healing the halidom, perhaps they have been striving to heal their own country -- truthfully I’m ashamed that I never thought to reach out to them, especially after what they suffered during the crusade…”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Chrom protested. “It’s not your responsibility to fix our father’s mess.”

“It _is,_ though,” she murmured. “It _is_ my responsibility: not as a daughter to right the wrongs of our father, but as the leader of this nation to correct the mistakes of those who came before me. I’ll need to take stock of what we might be able to offer -- if I begin now I might be ready to set out by week’s end…”

“N-now -- wait, Emm, hold on!” Scrambling to catch up as she started down the hall, he cut ahead of her, placing his hands on her shoulders. “You can’t rush into this! It could be dangerous.”

“You’re overreacting,” she insisted.

“No, I’m trying to be _reasonable_ ,” he countered. “Can...can you at least bring it up with the council?”

“They won’t be able to meet until tomorrow, at the earliest.”

“It gives you time to take stock, like you wanted?” he ventured. 

That, at least, seemed to sway her; he felt her shoulders relax as she sighed, folding the parchment and tucking it under her regalia. “Very well. I’ll send word to the council members that we meet tomorrow morning. ...and I should return to my audiences,” she added, glancing sheepishly over her shoulder. She was smiling when she turned back toward him, though, drawing him into a warm embrace. “Thank you, Chrom,” she murmured. “This is the start of something wonderful -- I’m certain of it.”

He dredged up his best smile, waving as she pulled back and started down the hall again. In spite of her certainty, all he felt was fear: for her safety, for the halidom’s wellbeing, for their future should the worst come to pass. But if nothing else, he felt certain that the council would not dismiss his concerns, and maybe -- just maybe -- they could avoid the crisis his sister seemed intent on welcoming. 

\-----

If nothing else, Chrom had been right in thinking the council would side with him. 

He had not, however, expected Emmeryn to fight so hard for the opportunity to make the meeting with Plegia happen. Maybe he should have, considering how hard she’d resisted the council before. Nothing he nor any of her advisors said managed to budge her: despite their pleas to decline or even ignore the missive outright, she intended to accept the invitation, and would stand for nothing less. 

In the end, all she would agree to was a minor change. As the hierarch pointed out, they had no idea how long such an excursion would last, and the Exalt needed to be in Ylisstol for the Festival of Naga’s Light at the height of summer. When forced to choose between going herself, thereby cutting the diplomatic visit short in order to get back in time; or sending someone in her stead who would be able to stay as long as needed to see everything done...she had conceded to a replacement. 

As he watched Cordelia and Sumia lift off to convey Emmeryn’s letter to the border, he couldn’t help but feel relieved: if, as he expected, the Plegians denied her request and insisted that she come herself, it would _have_ to convince her that their motives were less pure than she believed. But when they returned a week later with a reply, his stomach twisted itself into knots. 

To Her Grace Exalt Emmeryn of House Ylisse

We are overjoyed by your response, and pray that this message finds you again in good spirits and good health. We recognize the difficulties that arise when arranging what promises to be a lengthy diplomatic conference, and though we regret that you cannot visit our lands yourself at this time of year, we well understand that your holy duties must take precedence for the sake of your people. With that said, however, we are delighted by your suggestion, and will gladly welcome your brother Prince Chrom of House Ylisse in your stead. 

As per your letter, we will make for the Border Pass and be ready to meet the Ylissean delegation at the coming of the next full moon. We remain hopeful that these talks will usher in a time of peace and collaboration between our nations, and look forward to sharing all that Plegia is with your envoys.

Gratefully and Sincerely Yours,

Robin Fell, Sovereign of Plegia 

Reading it again as he stood in the dusty valley that marked the halidom’s western border, the heavy feeling of dread intensified. He’d endured it, to the best of his ability, on the march from Ylisstol; along the well-worn roads through farmland, field, and forest; and finally along the increasingly steep switchback trails through the mountains leading toward Plegia...but the closer he came, the more he struggled to keep his steps from dragging. It didn’t help that part of the guard force assigned to accompany him were veterans of his father’s war, and told stories over the campfire grim enough to steal his sleep: wyverns shrieking unseen in the dark overhead, black figures rising from the dunes like ghosts to strike before vanishing into the blowing sand, shadows roving among the rocks with claws that could shred a general’s plate in moments...every new tale of their time in Plegia left him feeling sicker than the one before, and all the more fearful of the confrontation ahead. 

But, if nothing else, Emm was safe in Ylisstol -- and at the council’s insistence, Falchion rested securely on his hip. Should the worst come to pass, and this was the trap he feared, he had a far better chance of getting out safely than she did. 

A horn sounded beyond the ridge on the far side of the pass, and Chrom’s fists tightened instinctively, crumpling the letter he still held in his hands. “Nervous?” Sully muttered, riding up beside him while he compulsively tried to smooth it out again. 

“Like you’re not,” he grumbled back, giving up and folding the parchment as best he could before stuffing it into his satchel. She looked knightly enough in her red and silver armor -- but he’d known her all his life, and he could tell at a glance that the sweat on her brow had nothing to do with the sun shining down on them. Every member of their group bore gleaming plate, gilt and filigreed with silver, and though both it and their arms were mostly ornamental, they made for a striking formation on the eastern side of the pass. 

And all the more for the fact that the Plegian convoy coming down the cliffs carried almost no weapons at all. 

Bright banners fluttered in the breeze while their horses picked their way to the edge of the ridge, adorned with colored ribbons and gold tack studded with gems. The riders, too, wore mostly robes and gowns woven with complex patterns, and even those sporting armor had decorated the bone with colored paint. Their procession outnumbered the Ylisseans almost three to one, and yet the halidom’s envoys sported at least ten times the number of weapons. 

Chrom hadn’t thought that sinking feeling could get worse; apparently he’d been wrong. 

Taking a deep, steadying breath, he started out toward the center of the pass with Sully and Frederick at his flanks, keeping a careful eye on the Plegian horses lined atop the cliffs...and after a moment, three started down the incline leading to the canyon floor: a berserker on a roan in the lead, two pale-haired young men sharing a bay behind him, and a dark-haired woman on a midnight black mare bringing up the rear.

His hand settled lightly on Falchion’s hilt when they stopped several paces away, tapping thoughtfully on the pommel while he scanned each of the four. The berserker was one of the few armed members of the convoy, and though his armor was swirled and streaked and spotted in blue and yellow, the signs of wear and care both were plainly evident: a warrior, tried and true -- rather like Frederick, the longer Chrom looked at him. For all of the bay’s elegant tack, the young men astride her looked dusty and care-worn, their pale hair windswept and their clothes dyed in similar violets and blacks with gold embroidery; they almost looked like brothers, and for all he knew, they were. Perhaps retainers? It wasn’t uncommon in Ylisse for siblings to end up in like roles...

Which left the woman. Out of all of them, she wore the most elaborate (if revealing) attire and jewelry and held herself with the most poise, regardless of her rather dour expression, and as he watched she carefully fixed her hair and adjusted her gold headpiece before accepting the berserker’s aid in dismounting. Was Robin a woman’s name? He couldn’t be sure, but...it seemed a likely guess.

Moving toward them, Chrom mustered up his best smile and spread his hands wide. “Greetings, good neighbors! We’re glad to see you in good health after your journey, and hope your travels to meet us here were pleasant and free of hardship. Robin Fell, Sovereign of Plegia, it is an honor to meet you,” he announced, hearing his voice echo through the valley as he swept into a respectful bow before her. Somewhere nearby he heard a spate of giggles and muffled shushing, but he did his best to put them out of mind, standing tall and pressing his closed fist over his heart. “I am Prince Chrom of House Ylisse, and on behalf of the halidom it is my honor to accept your kind invitation to visit your lands. I look forward to working with you, and it is my hope that we can find peace through cooperation in the months to come.”

Silence met his speech. 

A prickle of unease lifted the hairs on the back of his neck as the woman arched a dark brow, her expression somewhere between incredulous and disdainful. Had he botched a line somewhere? Emm had approved the greeting herself before he left, and he’d practiced it every night when sleep refused to come -- he was _sure_ he’d said it all correctly...unless there was something in there that was somehow offensive in Plegia? Naga preserve him--

“Well, Prince Chrom of House Ylisse,” a cheerful voice called from somewhere to his side, “it certainly is an honor to be treated to such an entertaining welcome. No one informed me that you were a comedian, but you have at least one of my retainers in _stitches._ ”

The sinking dread returned in force. Looking them over again, he saw the berserker pinch the bridge of his nose as though trying to stave off a headache, while the woman before him dipped into a polite bow before backing away; his gaze panned over to the bay and her two riders, the young man at the fore beaming down at him while the other buried his face in his companion’s hood to muffle the sound of his laughter. “You’re…”

“Robin Fell, Sovereign of Plegia,” he finished agreeably, gently elbowing the young man behind him. “Come on, Henry, down you go, you’ll fall off again if you go last.” Though his snickering had yet to abate (and didn’t seem likely to do so any time soon), the second rider sat back without argument, accepting the young sovereign’s offered hand and sliding easily to the ground before Robin joined him, dusting off his travel coat and revealing the elaborately embroidered robes beneath.

Chrom wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t the young man before him. ‘Sovereign’ sounded like such a grand title -- and while he was taller than the prince had thought from his initial glance at the mounted figure, he was also younger than Chrom would have believed: white hair aside, he couldn’t be much older then the prince himself. He carried himself well, though, practically gliding across the rocky ground while his retainers took their places on either side, the berserker settling at an easy parade rest a few paces behind.

Frederick elbowed him pointedly, and Chrom frantically tried to remember what he should be saying to save himself from any more embarrassment...but Robin seemed to take pity on him, opening his arms wide in welcome. “Prince Chrom of House Ylisse, it is our honor to meet you, and moreover to welcome you to our nation,” he announced, his voice soft but sure and carrying easily throughout the valley. “Our gratitude to you and yours knows no bounds, and we have high hopes that your willingness to collaborate with us will usher in an age of peace for both our peoples.” 

If the sovereign’s speech had been rehearsed, the prince couldn’t tell: the words flowed so easily compared to how awkward Chrom had felt in his own address. “Though we could never hope to fully express our appreciation -- nor dream of matching your delightful welcome,” he added with a wink, “we hope that these gifts may go some way toward showing the depth of our feeling. It is my understanding, Prince Chrom, that you are a keen swordsman: we pray you accept this gift, as a token of our esteem.”

When Robin stepped toward the prince and his entourage, the retainers behind him began to remove an impressive assortment of items from beneath their cloaks...but rather than reaching out to either of them, the sovereign swept his coat back and removed a sheathed dagger from his side, offering it with reverent care as he slipped into a formal bow. Chrom glanced sidelong at Frederick for approval...and at the great knight’s nod, he took it in hand, examining the elaborate weapon with growing awe. The scabbard alone was a work of art, leather dyed in deep blue and embossed with intricate silver designs; but the hilt was yet more beautiful, forged in the shape of a wyvern in flight: outstretched wings for the guard, scaled back and plated underbelly providing a perfectly textured grip -- even its head had been fully rendered with topaz eyes and onyx horns. Drawing the blade into the light, though, he was shocked to find not bronze, steel, or even silver, but translucent black stone, _cleaved_ rather than carved into a plane sharper than any weapon he’d ever seen beyond, perhaps, Falchion itself (and even that seemed uncertain). 

“Traditionally, obsidian is used for arrowheads or small knives, no more than a finger’s length,” Robin explained. “Blades this size are rare and precious; there are few higher honors here than to receive one.”

Chrom tore his gaze away from the dagger, already at a loss for words, and found the Plegian sovereign watching him expectantly. “...I’m moved by your generous gift,” he managed after far too long of a pause -- but Robin only beamed, inclining his head before drifting off with his retainers to deliver tokens to the rest of the Ylissean entourage. Carefully sheathing the blade again, he turned to follow their progress, one hand straying back down to Falchion’s hilt for just an instant before recoiling. 

None of this was what he’d expected. They’d come to a festival armed for war, and though the Plegians seemed to be taking their blunders in stride, Chrom felt shame overwhelming the dread that had pursued him from the capital. He could not see a trap in this -- and for the halidom’s sake, he prayed that he could get out of the grave they’d begun to dig for themselves.

\-----

Chrom knew a harangue from Frederick was inevitable, after the debacle of their first meeting with the Plegians. But after making his rounds among the Ylissean party, Robin offered them the choice of staying the night at one of the border forts, or beginning their trek through the western mountain range and resting at a waypoint further on. 

He chose the latter. _Anything_ to put off that lecture a bit longer. 

The Plegian sovereign seemed delighted by the decision, as best the prince could tell. Pulling himself easily into the bay’s saddle and helping Henry up behind him, he encouraged the Ylisseans to take to their own mounts...and when Sully offered her hand, Chrom didn’t hesitate to accept, settling behind her saddle and holding tight as her stallion cantered across the valley in the mare’s wake. 

In spite of the awkward tension between their groups, Robin seemed perfectly at ease, falling back from the front of the procession to match pace with the cavalier’s horse. For a while, they moved along in relative silence, and the prince stole a few curious glances at the young man. His presence reminded Chrom of his older sister, calm and sure and subtly confident; but where Emmeryn projected a gentle sort of grace, the Plegian sovereign was all friendly smiles, even when he caught the prince looking his way. 

“Pardon my asking, but does Ylisse have a problem with rogues?”

“Come again?” Chrom asked. 

“Are the roads dangerous, coming toward the border?” Robin clarified. “You came well-armed and armored, for a diplomatic party.”

The prince sheepishly adjusted the lay of his cape to conceal the holy blade at his side, praying the gesture wasn’t too obvious. “We have troubles with bandits and brigands,” he agreed. “Less lately than there were a few years ago, back when I took charge of the Shepherds -- the Ylissean militia,” he explained, watching the Plegian’s puzzled frown ease back into a smile, “but we’ve started going out to settle disputes between towns, too, so Emm-- th-the Exalt can focus on matters that impact the halidom at large. It’s a challenge. There are times when it’s kept us out for weeks at a time, and then as soon as we get back we have to go right out again.”

“Your sister is very lucky to have you,” the Plegian smiled. “I do hope that your visit with us will not add to her trials.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry,” Chrom chuckled, waving away the concern. “Most of the Shepherds are still back in Ylisse taking care of business as usual. A few came along, though, like Stahl and Miriel and Sully here.”

“Pleasure,” she said, offering her hand across the gap between their mounts.

“The pleasure is mine,” Robin replied, admirably meeting what the prince knew was one of the cavalier’s crushing handshakes without flinching.

“Frederick is technically my vice-captain in the Shepherds,” he added, looking over his shoulder to where the great knight rode close behind alongside the berserker, “but he’s also my overprotective bodyguard. Frederick the Wary, as my little sister and I call him. And Sumia,” he added, shading his eyes to watch the pegasi soaring overhead, “started out with us before she joined the Pegasus Knights, the Exalt’s personal guard force: she and Cordelia are here on personal recommendation from Exalt Emmeryn.”

“I look forward to getting to know all of you better during your stay,” the Plegian smiled. 

“And we, you,” Chrom offered. The awkward silence settled again, and it took all his willpower not to fidget with the sword beneath his cape. “So...uh...is there anyone I should be looking out for?”

“Hm? Oh, of course! Forgive my manners, I had planned to offer more formal introductions this evening. These are my retainers, Tharja and Henry,” Robin began, gesturing to the dark-haired woman riding on his other side while the young man behind him waved, “and Mustafa there is something of my bodyguard.” Turning slightly in the saddle, he offered a nod to the berserker, who returned it with a half-bow. “Orton heads the Plegian wyvern riders and should be flying at the front of our formation, scouting ahead for any obstacles or other dangers--”

“You brought wyverns?” The prince hadn’t seen them with the rest of the procession, and he was fairly sure a giant flying lizard would be hard to miss…

“There should be four of them: one at the rear, one to either side, and Orton at the lead. They would have landed for the greeting, but none of us was certain whether Ylissean horses were acclimated to wyverns the way ours are, so it seemed safer to have them stay aloft, rather than risk panicking your mounts.”

...he hadn’t thought of that. “That was very considerate of you.” Robin smiled, inclining his head slightly as he surveyed the rest of the company; Chrom, meanwhile, caught Henry watching him with interest, and offered his hand. “It’s nice to meet you. If you don’t mind my asking, why are you a retainer? Shouldn’t you be a prince?” 

The young man ignored his outstretched hand, staring at him without seeming to understand; frowning, he tried to figure out some other way to say it--

Henry giggled. And then rocked back, cackling wildly while Robin glanced over his shoulder. “Please don’t fall off again.”

“A _prince!!”_ Henry wheezed. “He thinks I’m a _prince!!”_

“Ugh, I can’t even _imagine_ what a nightmare that would be,” Tharja scoffed. 

“Did. Did I say something strange?” Chrom asked helplessly. 

“Plegian succession is...quite different from the halidom’s system,” the Plegian sovereign replied. 

“And Henry’s not your brother,” Tharja added. 

“A minor technicality,” Robin mused.

“Really? But...I-I just thought…with the hair...”

“White hair is not uncommon here,” he explained patiently. “Not as widespread as brown or black, but prevalent enough, all the same.”

Chrom could feel Frederick’s glare boring deeper into his back with every conversation he botched. “I apologize for my rudeness,” he said, bowing as best he could from his place behind Sully...only to hear Robin laugh. 

Lifting his head, he saw the Plegian wave the apology away. “You did no harm. Actually, you gave Henry another fine laugh, so perhaps I should thank you, instead,” he joked. “But you cannot be expected to know these sorts of things about a place you have never been. It is why we invited you, Prince Chrom, and why we are so pleased that you accepted.”

“...thank you,” he murmured, offering another bow. And Robin was still smiling when he looked up again. 

They continued on through the cliffs as the sun sank below the mountains, casting deep shadows across their path. At some silent signal, Plegians scattered through the company raised flames high to light the way on...but not torches, he realized, looking across at Henry to see him holding the fire in his bare hand.

“How are you doing that?”

The young man looked over at him, then to the flame. “What. This? It’s magic!”

“Not like I’ve ever seen,” Chrom muttered. “We have staves and combat tomes, but...don’t you need a book?”

“Sometimes,” Robin agreed. “But we have no need for anything so complex: light alone will suffice. We should arrive at the waypoint shortly--”

An inhuman shriek echoed through the canyon, stopping the Ylissean horses in their tracks; the Plegians, meanwhile, leapt into action, drawing into a tighter formation around the halidom’s convoy while Mustafa spurred his mount forward, vanishing into the dark ahead. “What’s going on?” Chrom demanded. 

“I could not say,” the Plegian sovereign murmured, his cheer replaced by a grave frown...but when he turned to the prince, he still managed a reassuring smile. “No need to worry. Whatever it is, I will see to it. Stay here, Prince Chrom: we will return shortly.” 

“Wait -- hold on,” he called...but too late, as Robin’s mare trotted forward with Tharja in pursuit, the bright beacon of their flames winding through the shadows and disappearing beyond the next curve.

“Well? What do we do?” Sully asked. 

“...follow them?” Chrom ventured. 

She grinned at him over her shoulder. “Good answer.” He had all of two seconds to throw an arm around her waist before she snapped the reins -- and he _still_ nearly toppled backward when her stallion charged, sending the Plegian mounts prancing aside and leaving Frederick’s panicked shout far behind. Keeping his eyes trained on the faint glow of firelight, the prince gripped Falchion’s hilt, ready to draw it up and block whatever danger might appear…

The cavalier tore around the bend, and all he saw was chaos. A pair of grounded wyverns flared their wings wide, their riders fending off their attackers’ crude pikes while two more circled overhead, swooping down by turns to disturb the enemy’s confused formation. Mustafa led a group of infantry fighters into the fray, quelling the scattered forces in twos and threes...and standing at the edge of the battle, he saw the Plegian sovereign turn toward them. “Prince Chrom? What are you doing here?”

Chrom’s head came up as a fighter broke past the berserker’s defensive line. “Look out!” he shouted, pulling Falchion up with his off hand as Robin turned toward the axe-wielder rushing toward him -- too late to stop him, even if the sovereign had a sword by his side to pull…

The Plegian brought his hand up, palm out -- and a gust of wind whipped through his coat, strong enough to send the fighter flying. “Oh. That might have been a bit much,” he muttered, casting a sheepish glance up at the Ylisseans while Sully reined her mount in beside him. 

“You have a hidden tome?” Chrom asked. 

“Just a Wind spell,” he agreed. “It makes for a fine non-lethal defense. You can never be too careful -- Plegia’s roads are not always the safest, either, but we did not want to give you cause for alarm by arriving with a heavily armed convoy.” 

If only the halidom’s party had thought of that sooner. 

“Hey, Robin!” Henry called, tumbling over to join them. “I think we got it all wrapped up, if you wanna come see.”

Dismounting from his place behind the saddle, the prince followed a pace behind, surveying the line of raggedly armed barbarians and fighters captured in the fight. To his surprise, though they were all on their knees with heads bowed, their hands remained unbound; some of them glanced up while Robin walked the line -- only to swiftly look away again, mumbling something under their breath when the sovereign caught their eye. “Pray tell me: why did you attack this waypoint haven?” he asked, his words clear and strong in spite of their quiet tone. 

“...we wanted to stop the Ylisseans from comin’ in to make another war.”

Robin stopped, kneeling before one of the fighters and offering his hand...which the man took in an unsteady grip. “The Ylisseans are not here to make war again,” he promised. “They are here to speak of peace. You need not fear.”

“Bullshit!” another shouted from down the line, leaping to his feet. “They’re armed to the teeth! Just waitin’ for a chance to strike!”

“And you were not?”

The barbarian stopped, glancing at the pile of weapons nearby. “You would attack unprovoked, over a threat that you only imagine exists?” the Plegian sovereign continued, his voice suddenly firm. “In trying to avert a conflict this way, you would only see it made real.”

The man sank back down to his knees, balling his hands into shaking fists. “This is not our way,” Robin declared, rising to his full height. “We do not lash out at those who have done us no harm. To do so invites retaliation, and rightly so. We address threats only when they prove themselves to be such. Do you understand?”

Chrom watched the men bow their heads so low that they touched the ground. “Please forgive us for our rashness,” they begged. 

The sovereign smiled, canting his head slightly to one side. “You are forgiven. Now be on your ways.”

They scrambled up without hesitation...but where most of them turned to leave, one lunged forward, grabbing the sovereign by the front of his coat and snatching a palm knife from a fold in his belt. “You’re in league with those damn Ylisseans, aren’t you?” the man growled, pressing the short blade to Robin’s throat. “Gonna sell us all out to them first chance you get!”

“I would suggest you take your hands off me,” the sovereign replied coolly, and something about his tone raised the hair on the back of Chrom’s neck. 

“Why? Gonna let them Ylissean dogs gut me if I don’t?” the fighter taunted. 

“No, but I can only do so much to restrain my retinue.” 

Chrom couldn’t follow what happened next. He saw the briefest flash of confusion on the man’s face, then something he couldn’t quite place -- and suddenly Mustafa had him on the ground in a chokehold, the blade falling to the dirt where Henry snatched it up in a shaking fist. “No need for rash action,” Robin warned, submitting without complaint when Tharja tilted his head up to examine his neck. “We can hold him at the waypoint for the time being. Henry, put the knife down.” 

The young man growled, jabbing it in the fighter’s direction once before shoving it into his tunic and returning to Robin’s side. “Did he hurt you?”

“Just a scratch,” Tharja confirmed. “Not deep enough to bleed.” 

“Please try not to make a habit of that,” Mustafa muttered, hauling the man up to his feet. 

“I swear to do my utmost,” the Plegian sovereign promised, turning to face the Ylisseans. “Please accept my apologies for this disturbance, Prince Chrom. The wounds of the last war have yet to fully heal -- but know that we do not condone such behavior. We earnestly wish to work with Ylisse to achieve a mutual peace, and we will permit no harm to befall you or yours: you have my oath.”

“...thank you.” The words didn’t feel like enough. But he didn’t know what else to say in the face of such a promise. 

Nothing today had met Chrom’s expectations: not the Plegians, not their welcome, and certainly not their sovereign. And he had never felt more completely out of his depth.


	2. Sharing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey from the border to Plegia's capital is fraught, less from the conditions than the awkward tension that exists between parties. Chrom begins to realize that what he grew up believing about the halidom's western neighbor is at best ill-informed...but he is woefully unprepared for the truth of his own nation that Robin brings to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite the fact that this was just supposed to be a quick little story for a prompt week, it ended up delving into some really big topics. Awakening, for however much I love it, does a very poor job of handling the issue of fault vs responsibility, especially where anything about Plegia is concerned.
> 
> As always, dashes (-) represent changes of scene. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

Chrom did not sleep. 

Not for lack of trying, of course. But first there was his overdue lecture from Frederick, and then Sully came to cheer him up with a couple bottles of ale she’d stashed for the trip, and then after she left and he settled down, the eerie sounds of a foreign land (not to mention the sounds of wings and claws from the wyverns nearby) kept jarring him awake every time he started to doze. By the time the sun rose and woke everyone else, he’d only managed a couple hours at best. 

And with all the travel ahead, he had to pray it would be enough. 

Breakfast, at least, was familiar, since Frederick had taken it upon himself to prepare the meal for their hosts by way of apology for all of their blunders the day before: eggs, sausage, and porridge, filling and hearty enough to perk him up even without a decent night’s sleep to his name. As he settled in to eat, he scanned the assembly, picking out a few familiar faces -- including Mustafa and Henry, milling in line for their share of the morning meal. Instinctively, he looked at the people closest to them, trying to find Robin in the crowd: the dark mage hadn’t left his sovereign’s side for more than a few seconds the day before, he couldn’t imagine that would change today…

“Good morning, Prince Chrom. Would you mind if I joined you?”

He practically tumbled out of his seat as he whirled to find Robin standing next to him with plate in hand. “O-of course,” he replied, moving to make room. “I mean, of course I don’t mind -- why would I?”

“Well, I notice that your group is keeping mostly to themselves,” the Plegian murmured. “I did not want to cause offense by making a bold assumption.”

Looking around again...he realized that Robin was right: the Plegians were scattered to all corners, milling and talking while they ate -- but the Ylisseans were all clustered close around their prince. “I think once we get through the introductions that’ll clear up.” He hoped it would, at least.

“The introductions!” Robin repeated. “It completely slipped my mind, with everything that happened last night -- please forgive the oversight on my part--”

“What? No, no, it’s not something to apologize for -- I mean, I forgot, too. We should have some time after breakfast, before we head out, right?” He’d have to get the Shepherds together once they finished up here...

“Of course,” the Plegian smiled. “Thank you for your understanding, Prince Chrom.”

He nodded awkwardly, digging into his meal rather than speaking. Robin seemed to thank him a lot. And apologize a lot, too. It was a little unnerving, honestly...

The Plegian sovereign watched him for a moment, stirring his own porridge a few times. “I hope you slept well.”

The prince made a non-committal noise around a piece of sausage; after the reprimand he’d gotten the night before, he had no intention of inviting another by opening his mouth more than necessary. But Robin smiled, all the same, starting in on his breakfast and letting silence settle between them. Somehow, though, that seemed worse, and the longer it stretched the more Chrom started hoping that he’d continue the conversation -- _any_ conversation -- because the prince couldn’t _imagine_ a topic more uncomfortable than this stillness…

But the Plegian didn’t. “So what is this place?” Chrom prompted, barely remembering to swallow before he started talking. “You called it...a waypoint?”

“Yes,” Robin agreed. “We have them scattered through much of the nation: they are places for travelers to rest and resupply on their journeys. Here in the Pass, there are very few safe routes, and each is perilous in its own way; the waypoints provide a safe place to recover before setting out again.”

“Is there a trade post here?” Chrom asked, looking around again. He hadn’t spotted one the night before, but he might have missed it in the dark…

“Oh, no: the supplies are there for any who might have need of them, without need for barter.”

“Who stocks them?”

“Whoever can,” the Plegian shrugged. “Travelers have been known to leave some of their own surplus for those who come after them, and some villages further on have adopted the task for their closest waypoints, but in most cases the supplies are furnished by the capital: the wyvern riders check and restock them as part of their routine patrols.”

“Aren’t you afraid someone will steal it all?”

Robin gave him a puzzled look. “The supplies are there to aid whoever comes. If they need it all so desperately, then it is not theft, is it?” 

Chrom opened and closed his mouth a few times, unable to find an answer. 

They continued their meal in silence, and the prince made no further attempts to break it while he chewed over the sovereign’s words. He hardly even tasted the rest of his food, even as he cleaned his plate; he was pleased to see that the Plegians seemed to enjoy it, too, and recognized the clear pride in Frederick’s face while he gathered the pots, each one scraped bare, and set to cleaning them before they prepared to leave. 

He lost track of the Plegian sovereign at some point between finishing breakfast and trying to round up the scattered Shepherds for their introductions. Could he warp at will? It shouldn’t be this hard to find one of only two people he’d seen in their group with white hair...but after a couple laps around the camp, he at last spotted the young man and his usual retinue with the wyvern riders, seeming entirely unbothered by the dragons nudging his shoulders while he tried to hold a map. “There he is -- hey…!”

He trailed off, his hand raised in greeting while the Plegians looked toward him. “Ah, Prince Chrom,” Robin smiled. “We were just finishing up. Is there anything you require?”

“Well, I’d been looking for you to make those introductions,” he said, gesturing to the Shepherds behind him, “but...I, uh, have a question: what titles does a sovereign use?”

Robin canted his head slightly to one side. “I...beg your pardon?”

“Well...my older sister is Exalt Emmeryn, and people address her as ‘Her Grace.’ I’m a prince, and people address me as ‘Prince Chrom,’ or ‘Milord.’ So...how should we address you?”

Robin smiled, folding the map and tucking it into his coat. “Robin is fine, Prince Chrom.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Ah, I know you! Hello, Sir!” 

Chrom looked up as Sumia hurried over, stumbling to a stop alongside them but managing, thankfully, to keep on her feet. “Well, if it isn’t the lovely pegasus knight,” one of the wyvern riders laughed. “What a pleasure to have you with us. Did you take that advice about the boots?”

“Yes, sir!” she giggled. “It worked like a charm! I haven’t had a stirrup slip since.”

“Glad to hear it,” he grinned. 

“You’ve met?” the prince asked, turning to the pegasus knight. 

“Oh, yes! This is the wyvern rider that hailed us with the letters,” Sumia explained. “The one that helped me up when I fell, remember?”

Only vaguely. 

“Well, this seems a fine place to begin, then,” Robin smiled. “This is Orton, captain of the Plegian wyvern riders. Ordinarily he oversees the training of wyverns and riders at the rookeries in the capital, coordinates assignments, organizes patrols, and so on; he is one of our most trusted companions, which is why we chose him to carry our words to the border, and we could imagine no one better to fly with us.”

“You honor me, My Fell,” the man murmured, bowing deeply to his sovereign.

“Fell?” Chrom repeated. 

Robin looked suddenly sheepish, running the tips of his fingers over the back of his gloved hand. “It is...an exceptionally formal address for the Plegian sovereign. It rises from the same source as the ‘Fell’ surname, which I took on when I assumed the throne.”

“Huh.” Well, that at least answered his question. “Should I call you ‘Fell,’ too--”

_“No,”_ every Plegian in earshot replied. 

And once again, he swore he felt Frederick’s stare burning holes in the back of his skull. 

\-----

Following the promised introductions, Orton explained the route ahead. The Ylisseans balked at first when they heard that the only way out of the mountains was through a narrow valley leading to a series of perilous switchback trails worn into the cliffs...but Robin stepped forward again, vowing to ensure their safe passage. And despite any misgivings he might have had, Chrom couldn’t bear the thought of Emmeryn’s disappointment if they turned back without even trying.

To his surprise, though, the journey was nowhere near as harrowing as he’d expected. The Plegian convoy held true to their sovereign’s word and took great care with their guests, allowing the Ylisseans to keep closest to the center of the valley during the first leg of the journey and furthest from the drop once they came to the mountain trails; and just as Robin has promised, at the end of every day’s trek they found a waypoint stocked with food, fresh water, and other supplies waiting for them. By the time the week was out and they reached the foothills, he’d stopped waking up at every unfamiliar noise, and even managed to sleep through the wyverns moving around him in the dark. 

He’d been uneasy at the outset about the first stage of the journey; as he soon discovered, though, he really should have been dreading the second. Once they left the base of the mountain, they soon found themselves mired in shifting sand that slowed their pace to a crawl even without the armor the Plegians had suggested they store and transport by sledge -- and to make matters still worse, their progress had to be limited to the early hours around sunrise and the late hours around sundown in an attempt to avoid both the scorching heat of the day and the frigid chill of the night. 

“How do people _live_ with this?” Chrom groaned, collapsing in the shadow of a giant rock jutting out of the desert sand and seriously debating whether or not to down the entire waterskin he’d been given. 

“We’ve adapted,” Robin shrugged, drifting over and kneeling by his side. “Here.”

The prince squinted at what looked like a plain white stone with unfamiliar patterns carved into its surface. “What is it?”

“Something that might help.”

Warily, Chrom took it from his hand...and felt a wave of cool air wash over him, blissful enough to send him sprawling deeper into the warm sand. “Better?” the Plegian chuckled.

_“Much,”_ the prince agreed, holding it up toward the cloudless sky. “What is this thing?”

“A magic rune,” Robin explained, turning another over in his hands. 

“So you don’t need tomes to do magic in Plegia?”

“You don’t _need_ tomes to do magic anywhere,” the Plegian explained. “All you really need are the runes. Tomes are commonplace because they are durable, capable of supporting complex rune combinations, and easy to transport, but you could draw a trace in the sand and draw power from it.”

“...wait. Really?” Robin nodded as Chrom looked up at him. “Does Miriel know?”

“She and Henry have been discussing matters of magic at great length for the past week,” the Plegian chuckled. “I would be more surprised if she were not yet aware of that fact. ...I also may have mentioned that we have an academy of magic studies in the capital, so that may be a place to look should she vanish after we arrive...”

“...can you do it?” the prince ventured. “Draw a rune and make it work?”

Smiling, Robin smoothed his hand across the ground between them, and Chrom picked himself up to watch while he made a circle, followed by a few curling lines inside. As he touched the edge with the tips of his fingers, the prince saw tiny motes of light wink into existence, weaving into a ring that hummed in the air between them...and when the Plegian gestured with his free hand, a puff of wind whispered through Chrom’s cloak and ruffled his hair before falling still.

“Sand, sadly, is not the best medium for runes,” Robin admitted, gesturing down at the ruined drawing. 

“I’m still impressed,” the prince laughed. “I’ve never been good at magic, myself. Both my sisters have the talent -- staves, mostly, though they can handle tomes well enough -- but it just...never worked for me.”

“Not everyone has the ability. And even within the different types of magic, it is possible to excel with one and struggle with another. I may be an able hand with magic like wind and thunder, but dark magic is my bane; Tharja is polite enough to not lament it publicly, but Henry is not, and finds it hilarious.”

“...you can’t use dark magic?” Chrom repeated. “I thought everyone in Plegia could.” At least, that was how the guardsmen had made it sound in their stories...

“Being Plegian does not mean that we are all practitioners of dark magic,” Robin corrected. “There are just as many who possess no magical affinity at all: you need only look to Orton and Mustafa to see that.”

...thinking back, he’d never seen either warrior using the enchanted fire Henry and Tharja summoned up at night. Only torches, held high to light the way when their party made camp. Rubbing the back of his neck, the prince snuck another glance at his host, watching him idly rub the back of his hand. “It seems like every time I open my mouth I say something stupid.”

“How can you know what you have never experienced?” the Plegian murmured. “It was our hope that, in extending this invitation, you would have an opportunity to see our nation for yourself, and learn the truth of it first-hand.”

“My head’s going to swell from all the new things I’m already learning,” Chrom joked. “Much more and I’ll start falling off a horse more often than Sumia.”

Robin didn’t laugh, though. He barely smiled, and even that looked forced in the instant before it disappeared. “We had an early start this morning, and several hours yet before we can set out again. You should rest for now.”

He started for his feet, and the prince felt another wave of unease crash over him. He’d said something wrong, he was sure of that much, but _what_ it might have been escaped him. As he scrambled for something to say, _anything_ to say...his hand tightened on the stone still resting in his palm. “H-hey, uh...you said this was magic?” 

The Plegian glanced down at him, inclining his head slightly. “I’m...I can’t do magic. How is it working?”

“I activated it,” the sovereign replied. “You need not worry: it should remain that way for some time yet.”

“What should I do if it stops?”

A faint smile eased across the Plegian’s face. “You need only find me, and I will set it right.”

“...thank you,” Chrom said. “I appreciate it. All of this, I mean, not just…” Gesturing vaguely toward the landscape around them, rolling dunes as far as the eye could see, he struggled to put words to his feelings -- gods, why did this have to be so _hard..._

But Robin’s expression changed. Something warm, something soft, subtle but undeniably present. “I’m glad,” he murmured. “I know it hasn’t been an easy journey so far, so I’m very glad for that.”

The Plegian sovereign composed himself, bowing smoothly before the prince. “If you need anything at all, I am happy to provide,” he said, rising again to his full height. “Rest well, Prince Chrom.” And then he turned, gliding over the sand like it was solid stone. 

Chrom stared. He couldn’t help it. They had been in close company for going on a fortnight now, and he’d really started to believe that his host was naturally regal, unerringly formal, and composed to a fault...but _that_ had been none of them. _That_ had not been a sovereign, but a young man Chrom’s age, struggling with his duties and the expectations heaped on him. 

_That_ , he was certain, had been _Robin_. 

Leaning back against the warm rock, the prince rubbed his thumb over the deep grooves etched into the stone cupped in his palm. They still had a long way to go yet, and a lot to accomplish...but maybe, if he tried hard enough, he’d see that young man again.

\-----

It took them nearly a full fortnight to make their way through the desert to the capital. He was absolutely certain that flying would have saved them a lot of time and sunburns -- but with only two pegasus knights and four wyverns among them, he recognized it for the wishful thinking it was. 

Still, arriving in the Plegian city after so long adrift among the dunes came as a shock. Aside from the bustling oases that acted as waypoints along the way, the desert had seemed nearly empty, save for the occasional merchant caravan or village glimpsed from a distance; the capital, though, was full of music and laughter that echoed out to greet them long before they set eyes on the gates, with crowds of people in brightly colored robes lining the streets and even taking to balconies and rooftops to witness their arrival. 

A tall, severe-looking man in black and violet robes met them at the heart of the city, his gold jewelry flashing in the sunlight when he bowed. Introducing himself as the hierophant of the Grimleal faith (which sent a chill down Chrom’s spine), he led them to the palace perched atop the nearby mesa, guiding them past the monstrous six-eyed skull that towered over the sands...and the prince watched each of the Plegians make an odd ritual gesture as they looked upon the ancient bones. 

The feast that evening rivaled even the grandest celebrations from Ylisstol, with roasted meat, warm bread, savory vegetables, and exotic fruits he didn’t have names for. The conversation, too, was boisterous and cheerful enough to make him forget the month of hard travel that came before. At least for a while. But it all came rushing back the next morning over breakfast when Robin proposed to show them around the city...only for Frederick to shoot him down. As the great knight pointed out, they could use at least a few days to rest after so long on the road -- and moreover, they had yet to make any diplomatic progress. 

Business first. As always, with Frederick the Wary. 

So, much to Chrom’s dismay, he spent the next week cooped up in meetings, trying not to fall asleep while the political advisors in the company delved into all of the mind-numbing details of trade agreements, border crossings, market values, necessary goods, and on and on and on. Robin handled it all better than he did, leading the discussions with apparent enthusiasm and negotiating back and forth with ease alongside his own councilors. 

But as the days dragged on, one topic was notably absent from the discussions. 

From the day they left Ylisstol to the morning they reached the Border Pass, Chrom had listened to his advisors and guardsmen muttering, fretting, and complaining by turns about reparations. Even Emm, before he set out, had foreseen the subject coming up, and prepared a list of what the halidom could reasonably offer their neighbors from the outset. 

Yet it never came up. The Plegians did not so much as raise the topic. 

His advisors had noticed it, too, judging from their conversations after supper in the privacy of the expansive suite the Ylissean company had been provided. Chrom was by no means an expert in diplomatic matters, but from what he gathered they suspected it was an elaborate trap: force Ylisse to agree to other matters, smaller and of less importance, before finally bringing up the issue and using the halidom’s prior agreements and concessions to force compliance. Which seemed needlessly complicated, at least in his view. 

He still wondered, though. So as the next discussion adjourned, and Robin explained that they would meet again the day after next, Chrom waited for the others to file out, quietly sent Frederick ahead...and closed the doors.

The Plegian sovereign glanced up at him, offering a pleasant smile as he set aside the papers he’d been making notes on throughout the meeting. “Is there something I can help you with, Prince Chrom?”

“I...I had a question, actually.” Robin canted his head slightly, a silent invitation to continue. “When are you going to bring up reparations?”

The Plegian’s head shot up, eyes wide with shock and composure entirely gone. “I. I hadn’t thought it was a topic we could freely discuss in these negotiations -- but if you’re amenable to it, we would be grateful to have it brought to the table--”

“W-wait, wait, hold on,” Chrom interrupted. “I wasn’t trying to say that -- I-I was just surprised it hadn’t come up, that’s all.”

And just like that, Robin measured himself again, smoothing his sleeves to brush away any trace of his lapse. “It seemed ill-advised to broach such a charged topic so early in the discussion,” he explained. “I am well aware that the halidom would not look favorably on such a request, especially given how fraught relations between us have been in the past. My intention has been to solidify a bond with the halidom first, establish friendship and make evident that peace is our goal, before approaching the subject -- perhaps in another few years, should our efforts here bear fruit.”

“That long?”

The Plegian turned a wry smile on him. “And here my council insists that is far too soon.”

“I. What?”

Robin sighed, pacing slowly around the table. “There is a delicate balance in diplomacy. This is always true, but all the more when it is carried out between entities with a history of conflict, be they individual rulers or entire nations. Tip the scales too far and risk unbalancing everything. Better to be careful and make small steps toward progress, rather than risk another war.”

“Emm would never,” Chrom protested. 

“That has been my hope,” the Plegian agreed. “Hence why I thought it might be reasonable to move more quickly. From everything we have heard regarding her reign, she is a kind and considerate ruler; I had hoped she would be amenable to the discussion, and perhaps even willing to take responsibility for the damage Ylisse has wrought--”

“It wasn’t her fault.”

“I did not say it was,” Robin replied.

“Then why is it _her_ responsibility?” Chrom demanded, his fingers wrapping instinctively around Falchion’s hilt. “Emm didn’t start the war: she _ended_ it when my father died, as soon as she could. She’s done _everything_ in her power to make things better for _everyone_ since then, even though our people spent _years_ distrusting her, _hating_ her, _attacking_ her -- and she still treated them with kindness, and kept fighting to make their lives better _._ Why should she have to pay for something that was never even her fault!?”

“Because she is the only one who _can!”_

The Plegian’s voice nearly broke from the force of those words. “I _never_ said that your sister was at _fault_ \-- but Ylisse is _her nation,_ and _Ylisse is at fault!_ Only _she_ has power over the halidom now, its policies, its treaties, its _actions,_ and so _only she_ can take steps to atone for a _thousand years_ of _malice_ and _persecution_ and _violence,_ beginning with the murder of our divine by her ancestor and culminating in the _genocide of my people by her father.”_

The prince stood frozen, watching as Robin fisted a trembling hand in his sleeve. “I was five years old when the war ended; I am twenty-one years old now and my nation _still_ suffers _every day_ for a war that ended when I was a _child._ We lost _so many_ to its cruelty...my mother grew up in the eastern desert, and she told me how the dunes used to sing, how the villages among them would stop their work and add melodies to it; travelers could hear those songs for miles, and always find safe haven for a night of rest -- and now the desert is all but empty, because in his march that man slaughtered every Plegian in range of tome or bow and put to the torch every settlement he came across. There are so few left now, and they are so much smaller than they were before that they struggle to endure; and _still more_ have no place to return to after he destroyed their homes and ruined what little land they could till -- they came to the capital as refugees, and refugees they remain after _fifteen years_ because _we have no way to restore all that was robbed of us on our own!!”_

Leaning against the edge of the table, the Plegian sovereign pressed a hand against his face. But Chrom had already seen the tears, and even now Robin’s shoulders hitched and trembled as he struggled to keep himself in check. “I was five years old when the war ended,” he repeated softly. “I have spent _half my life_ wondering: had I been born twenty years sooner, could I have changed things? Could I have saved those lives? Could I have prevented the war entirely, kept him from marching beyond our borders, kept my people safe…? I have asked myself these questions so many times, and I will never have an answer, because I was not born in time to stop it. I can only do what I’m able to help my people survive in the wake of horrors visited upon us by a neighbor who, after fifteen years beneath a kind ruler who has ushered in their golden age, has never so much as _acknowledged_ the crimes it committed, let alone _apologized_ for the suffering caused. And when we try to invite understanding by welcoming our neighbors in, we are met with distrust and treated as threats worthy of an armed greeting -- or at best, have repeated to our faces the same heartless lies that have been used for a millennium to justify our persecution and slaughter...and then told that the truth is too much to hold without toppling.”

Shame lodged in his throat. 

“You _say_ the Exalt has done everything to prevent people from suffering. But what you _mean_ is that she has done this only for _her own_ people. You berate me for placing the needs of _my_ people on equal grounds, as though we are not worthy of the same consideration, when our struggles continue and your own have abated. So I pray you consider: perhaps the fault lies not with _my_ people, but how _you_ have chosen to judge us on the lies of your upbringing, rather than the truth we have invited you to see.”

Bowing deeply, the Plegian sovereign rose again to his full height, turning away without meeting Chrom’s eye again. “Enjoy your day of rest,” he murmured. 

He left without another word. But for a long time, Chrom stood rooted to the spot, deafened by the echoes of Robin’s words. 

\-----

“Hey. Sully?”

He heard movement behind the heavy curtains as he knocked on the arch, followed soon after by a head of wild red hair poking out into the common room. “Well, look who’s finally left the cave! I was startin’ to get worried after you skipped dinner yesterday. What took ya?”

“I’ve had a lot of thinking to do,” he muttered. “Listen, I need a favor.”

“It’ll cost ya.”

“I know,” he huffed.

“Ooh, this must be big,” she joked, though neither one honestly remembered what they owed the other anymore. “So? Wha’cha got?”

“I need you to waylay Frederick for me.”

“ _Hell_ no.”

“Come on!” he pleaded. “It’s important!”

“Yeah, an’ so’s my _skin,_ ” she shot back, “which he’s gonna _flay_ if he finds out I was in on whatever the fuck you’re avoiding him for.”

“Look, if you do it right, he’ll have no way of proving you were involved.”

“Like Frederick ever needs _proof,_ ” she grumbled. 

“I _need_ this, Sully. Whatever you ask, I’ll do it.”

She groaned, ruffling her hair. “Ah, dammit. It means that much t’ya?”

“I wouldn’t ask if it didn’t.”

“...fine. When?”

“This morning, before breakfast.”

“How long ya need?”

“Ten minutes tops.”

“An’ you _swear_ that if Frederick tries to lay into me, you’ll back me up?”

“You have my oath,” he swore, pressing his fist over his heart. 

“Done,” she agreed, clapping him hard on the shoulder. “Better make a run for it, though, pretty sure I hear him comin’.”

True enough, the great knight’s clanking armor gave him away in an instant; nodding gratefully to the cavalier, Chrom pressed himself against the wall by the main entry, praying the cluttered shelves of decorations between him and the arch would give him enough cover...and as Frederick passed by, making a beeline for the prince’s quarters, he slipped out into the hall, down the passage, and around the corner, weaving his way through the increasingly familiar halls of the Plegian palace until he came to the formal meeting room where he and Robin had spent the last week in conference. It didn’t surprise him too much to find it empty, though part of him wondered how he was going to catch the sovereign alone otherwise--

“Prince Chrom?”

His head shot up at the familiar voice. Robin paused a few paces away, head tilting slightly when Chrom waved him closer...but after a moment, he followed the prince into the meeting room, moving to stand by the table while Chrom closed the door after them. “Is something the matter?”

“Yes,” the prince agreed, looking around for a bar to avoid interruptions...but he couldn’t see one anywhere nearby. Best make it quick, then. 

“If this pertains to what I said when last we met--”

“It does,” he interrupted, “but before you say anything else, please hear me out.” The sovereign braced himself, folding his hands before him and inclining his head in invitation...and Chrom bowed as deeply as he could. “I apologize for my words and my actions -- not just what happened a few days ago, but my thoughtless remarks on the way here, and the way we met you at the Border Pass... _everything._ You’re right: I _don’t_ know about you, or your people, or your country, and up to now I’ve been falling back on what I was told growing up, instead of making wise use of your generous offer to teach us what your nation is truly like. It was wrong of me, and I’m ashamed of my behavior and the pain it’s caused you. I’m sorry, Robin: with all my heart, I apologize for how I’ve wronged you, and I swear to do better from here on.”

Lifting his head slightly, he watched the young man lift a hand to his throat, fretting with the clasp that held his robe closed. “...I accept your apology,” he murmured, the faintest hint of a smile touching his face. “And I am grateful for it. Let us move beyond what was said, then -- and rest assured, I will make no mention of reparations in the discussions today--”

“Actually, that’s the other thing,” Chrom cut in again, hooking his hand into his empty baldric. “I was...uh...w-well, I was wondering how you’d feel about...skipping. The meeting.”

“...that seems terribly rude, given that I am the host for the delegation,” Robin pointed out. 

“Yeah, but...you also offered a tour of the city when we got here. And I’d really like to take you up on that.”

The sovereign stared at him. Awkwardly ruffling his hair, Chrom put on what he hoped was a charming smile, praying that Robin would at least consider the request…

“Your entire party?”

“Uh...just me. Actually.”

He saw Robin quirk one eyebrow. “Is there something you wanted to see?”

“Anything you want to show me. I want to learn, but...well, I don’t know anything about Plegia. I don’t know where to start. So I was hoping you might be willing to help.”

The other rose to join it. “...have you had breakfast yet?”

His brows furrowed at the question. “No, I came straight here. I was hoping to catch you alone, since I wasn’t sure if you were going to join us after you skipped yesterday--”

The sovereign slipped past him while he spoke, poking his head out the door and looking up and down the hall; when he turned back, the prince was struck dumb by the mischievous grin tugging at his expression. “In about five minutes the rest of my council should be getting here; if we hurry, we can be out of the palace and in the city before they realize. We should be able to get breakfast there, if you’re amenable to something new.”

“I’m all for it,” the prince replied, hoping he didn’t sound too overeager. Judging by Robin’s smile, though, he finally felt like he was on the right track. 


	3. Cooking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrom gets a taste (quite literally) of Plegia as the sovereign takes him into the capital to explore and learn about its history and culture. The two young men begin to build a real rapport over the course of their outings, and Chrom uncovers new truths about Robin that show him in a new light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a warning, if you have a sensitive stomach where food is concerned, please take care with the final section, and feel free to avoid the last breakfast entirely. It includes non-detailed descriptions of traditional cuisine -- in this case, an analogue of _[kalle-pache](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Khash_\(dish\)#In_Iran)_ \-- which may be unpleasant for some people. 
> 
> As ever, dashes (-) indicate a change of scene. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

“So...can I ask about the skull?”

“What about the skull?” Robin asked, sitting down at a small table and gesturing for Chrom to join him.

“I mean. It’s...it’s Grima’s skull, right?” he ventured, watching his host nod in agreement. “But is it Grima’s _actual_ skull, or some kind of monument or statue or something?”

“Oh, no, it’s the real thing,” Robin grinned. 

The prince gaped at him for a moment. Then turned to stare at the giant bones, struggling to imagine them as part of something alive and airborne. “The...all the stories I heard growing up said Grima filled the sky. I figured that was...I don’t know, a phrase, something poetic to make him seem big and scary. I didn’t think it was _literal._ ”

“Grima was an uncommon Divine,” the sovereign smiled, folding his hands on his knee. “It’s said that He lost his life in defense of His people, and we hold that His Bones protect us even now: do you remember the ridge we traveled along in the desert?”

“Those big rocks?”

“Big, yes. Rocks...not so much.”

It took him a moment to grapple with that revelation. “You know, it’s probably a good thing you didn’t tell us that.”

“I had a feeling,” Robin chuckled, reaching up to help the woman who approached with a platter almost larger than their table. Supporting the side closest to him, Chrom caught her grateful nod, and the three of them together eased it securely into place between them. “You didn’t have to bring it alone,” he heard the sovereign chide gently. 

“I didn’t want to interrupt you,” she protested.

“It’s never any trouble,” Robin insisted. “Your safety is most important: if you need help, you need only ask.”

“Of course,” the woman murmured, bowing low before departing with a small wave.

The prince smiled as he turned from watching the sovereign to examining the spread between them. At the center of the tray was a burnished bronze teapot, accompanied by two glass cups rimmed with gold. Radiating out he saw bowls of porridge, plates of bread, small dishes full of things he couldn’t identify in colors ranging from red to buttery cream, and an omelet so packed with herbs it was more green than yellow. “I. _Wow._ Where do I even start?”

“I’d recommend the porridge,” Robin replied, pouring them each a cup of tea before snatching a few flatbreads and starting to tear them apart. Shrugging, Chrom spooned a heaping helping into his bowl, giving it a curious sniff. Unlike the fare Frederick had made on the road, it had a richer, savory aroma that made his mouth water; while his host started spreading a reddish jam on a bit of bread, the prince took a taste… 

“Is this meat?”

“Yes. ...why? Is that bad?” Robin asked, pausing with his bite halfway to his mouth.

“You can put _meat_ into _porridge?”_

“...yes? It’s fairly common, if more popular in winter than summer…”

His voice trailed off while Chrom set about demolishing his helping. Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought he heard the young man chuckle as he reached over to take some for himself, leaving another half portion for the prince (which he gladly took before Robin could change his mind). “Should I take it you’re pleased, then?”

“This is _delicious,_ ” Chrom agreed, scraping his bowl clean. “What else?”

“Well, the bread is always good, and we have all manner of spreads: rose petal jam, honey, butter, cheese with herbs -- or pistachios, depending on your preference,” he added, pointing them out one by one. “And the omelet is lighter, a bit sweet and savory.”

Grabbing a few pieces of bread, he waited for Robin to cut his own portion of the egg and herb dish, grabbing the rest and tucking into it with gusto. “You eat like this _every morning?”_ he mumbled through a bite, copying the Plegian in tearing apart his bread to cover with cheese and small green nuts.

“Well, not _exactly_ like this,” Robin chuckled. “This is just a sampling of some common fare. Actually the omelet is a surprise, I think we’re being spoiled.”

“Hey, I’m not about to complain,” Chrom grinned. “I’d love to thank the cook before we leave, if I could.”

“And I’d imagine she’ll be delighted to hear that you enjoyed it,” the Plegian beamed.

“That’s an understatement.” They ate in silence for a few more moments, Robin working his way leisurely through his meal while Chrom forced himself to slow down and savor more. As his host sat back with his teacup, looking out at the skull towering over the city, the prince followed his gaze, chewing thoughtfully over another bite of his breakfast. “So...you said the bones protect you?”

“Well, some of that is more superstition than truth,” Robin confessed. “Many of the eastern villages were built close to them over the last thousand years, and given their size they can provide shelter from the sandstorms that sometimes blow through. It varies, of course, depending on the wind direction, but the fables only remember the times when the bones were a boon.”

“What about the skull?” 

The young man hummed through another piece of bread, finishing as quickly as he could and chasing it with another sip of tea. “That, actually, is more practical: the bones themselves are sacred, and intentionally harming with them is a grave offense; but Grima was also our nation’s great protector, so over many years the skull was carved and imbued with enchantments for the purpose of making it an evacuation site. Should the capital come under threat, the people can retreat to the skull, which will then close over them to protect them. It’s incredibly thick and heavy, and would take a monumental effort to either lift it or break through, so it makes for an ideal shelter.”

Chrom looked again at the towering skull, trying to imagine it snapping closed over a whole city’s worth of people. “...that’s brilliant.”

“Thankfully it’s not been needed often,” Robin continued, “though it has been needed. Some of the damage to the bones is from former sieges it endured. But it allowed us to survive and rebuild.”

...he wondered, briefly, if it had been needed during his father’s campaign. But he wasn’t sure he could stomach it if the young man said yes.

Glancing up from his teacup, Robin’s lips twitched into another mischievous little grin. “Ah, it looks like the hunt has begun.”

Puzzled, Chrom turned to look...and saw Frederick and Mustafa further down the street, ducking into the busy shopfronts and searching through every stall. “Well, at least we got breakfast out of it,” he muttered, hastily spreading another bit of bread with cheese…

“Oh, are we finished?” the young man asked, sounding disappointed. 

The prince looked back at him, his brows rising in surprise. “Are we not?” 

“Not if you don’t want to be,” Robin grinned, snatching up the last flatbread as he took to his feet and ducking into the restaurant while Chrom scrambled to follow. “Pardon us, but may we use the back way?” he called. 

The woman who’d brought their breakfast out tried -- and failed -- to hide a smile behind her hand. “Of course you may. And I suppose I haven’t seen the sovereign this morning?”

“Oh, certainly not,” Robin agreed, drifting out into an open courtyard where pots simmered and pans sizzled over well-tended fires. “Sadly this means he was unable to pay due compliments to his cook and his host, but he will most certainly come again to give his regards.”

“I think it was the best meal I ever had,” Chrom piped up, bowing to the woman tending the flames as she rose and dusted her sooty hands on her apron. “Though, uh. I guess you haven’t heard that from me yet?”

“Must have just been the wind,” she chuckled, returning the gesture. 

Waving goodbye, Chrom watched the Plegian sovereign draw a purse from his sash, tucking it into a gap in the stonework before retreating through the arch and into the next street. “You don’t make a habit of that, do you.”

“Who, _me? Never,_ ” Robin replied, feigning affront. “I would never _dream_ of sneaking out to patronize businesses in the city, what would _ever_ give you that idea?”

“I can’t imagine,” the prince teased, hooking his thumb onto his empty belt. “So, then: where to next?”

\-----

They toured the city until sunset, dodging Mustafa and Frederick as they moved from market stalls to artisan shopfronts to gardens that seemed impossibly green in the middle of the desert. Once the sun dipped below the skull, Robin led them back to the castle overlook...where, unsurprisingly, the guards were out in force on a frantic search. 

“Now what?” Chrom muttered, scratching the back of his head. As much as he’d enjoyed the day, he wasn’t looking forward to getting reamed out by every patrolman in the courtyard…

“I would recommend holding tight.”

“What?” 

Robin offered his arm with a wink; confused, the prince linked his own with it, hearing the young man humming as a strange, tingling energy raised the hairs on his arms--

In the next instant he dropped a foot, landing with a yelp in a pile of cushions. Flailing for a moment, he looked around the lamplit room, taking in the scroll-filled alcoves along the walls, the honeycomb shelves filing back into the shadows…

Robin’s breathless laughter jolted him back into the moment. “Are you alright?” the young man asked, cheerfully extracting himself from the pillows and offering a hand down to help the prince up. 

“Uh...y-yeah, I’m good,” Chrom replied, gripping Robin’s wrist and hauling himself to his feet. “What was that?”

“Warp,” the young man replied, straightening his robes and jewelry. “It’s not the easiest spell for me, and I have an unfortunate habit of botching the landing -- hence the cushion. The hierophant insisted that I learn it when I was young, as an emergency escape measure; I don’t suppose he ever considered other applications for it.”

“You did, from the looks of it,” the prince grinned. “So...where are we, exactly?”

“The castle library -- here I thought the scrolls would give it away,” Robin teased, removing one from its place and unrolling it. 

“We don’t...have all that many scrolls in Ylisse. Our library just has shelves and shelves of books.” Also stacks and piles: the palace archive hadn’t been properly curated for years, and the last time he dared to brave it he’d nearly been buried when a tower collapsed in front of him -- at which point he’d wisely turned and left. “I haven’t much spent time there since I was a kid.”

“I love it here,” the young man smiled, carefully re-rolling the scroll and replacing it in its nook. “I spend nearly as much time here as I do in the city.” And based on their reception throughout the day, Chrom got a feeling that Robin spent a great deal of time there. “Some of it is practical, of course: research into historic precedents, or learning about other cultures from available records...but I’ve lost whole days to reading adventure tales before, and the library is something of a maze for anyone who doesn’t know it well.”

Gesturing for the prince to follow, the young man summoned up one of the warm magic lights into his palm and began to weave his way through the rows and aisles, leading them through several junctions where the scroll-filled honeycombs wrapped into pillars stretching from the floor to the ceiling high above...and eventually out into an open space full of low tables with pillows scattered around them. “And here we are,” he smiled, pushing the door open and letting the light from the hall beyond come pouring in. 

“I’m glad you were here to show me the way out -- I think if I got lost in there, it might take _days_ to get out,” Chrom chuckled. “But there are worse places to be lost -- at least I wouldn’t be hurting for entertainment.”

“Oh, can you read Plegian?” Robin asked excitedly. 

“...maybe not, then,” the prince amended, grinning sheepishly as the young man’s fond laughter filled the corridor--

“Milord!!”

And just like that, reality came crashing back. Flinching instinctively, he turned to see Frederick and Mustafa both charging up the hall toward them, concern barely masking the great knight’s fury. “Where in _Naga’s name_ have you _been!?”_ he demanded. “We’ve been _worried sick about you--”_

“We were here in the library.”

Chrom jerked, turning to stare at the sovereign standing by his side. “Prince Chrom reached out to me this morning and asked that I share more of Plegia’s history and culture with him. The library seemed a fitting place to do that. I left a note with Henry this morning -- did he forget to pass it to you?”

The prince swore Frederick’s head was about to catch fire. “...I did not think to explore the library, as Milord is not normally given to literary pursuits,” he said through gritted teeth, “but he could have at least given me the courtesy of a warning before rushing off.”

“I apologize,” Chrom bowed. “I wanted to bring it up with Robin first thing this morning, before the delegation met…”

“I fear the blame lies with me,” the sovereign confessed. “It was by my own insistence that we departed with such speed that he could not inform you. I pray you can forgive me for causing you such concern, Sir Frederick, but you have my oath that no harm will befall Prince Chrom while I am with him.”

“While I am grateful for that, it is ever my duty as his warden to accompany Prince Chrom and keep him safe. In the future, I would implore you to inform me of your intentions.”

“Of course,” Robin nodded. “For now, I believe that dinner will soon be ready; I look forward to speaking with you again soon, Prince Chrom.”

“Of course,” he smiled. “See you soon.” 

Even as he raised his hand in a parting wave, the great knight’s hand clamped down on his shoulder and steered him down the hall, pushing them back the way Frederick had come while Robin and Mustafa continued in the opposite direction. Chrom felt rage in his warden’s trembling grip, but said nothing while they wound their way down to the suite of rooms set aside for the Ylissean delegation; shoving through to the common area, Frederick finally released his charge, drawing the heavy drapes closed behind them to give them at least some semblance of privacy. 

Not a good sign. Preemptively, the prince held up his hands. “Look, I’m sorry--”

“What were you _thinking!?”_

The great knight’s roar forced him back a step. “I thought that I was doing what I came here to do,” he replied. “Robin invited us so that we could learn about Plegia, and all I’ve done since we got into the city is sit around in meetings and listen to people negotiate. I’m here in Emm’s place, and it’s on me to try and do what she would have done--”

“You imagine she would have _put her life in danger?”_

Chrom flinched, hunching his shoulders and trying to ignore the growing crowd. “You left today with neither guard nor sword, and informed no one of where you were going! If something had happened to you--”

“In a library?”

“--you could have been _killed,_ and _no one_ would have been the wiser!”

“Why do you think they’re going to hurt us?” the prince demanded. “They’ve done _nothing_ but treat us well, even when we came to their borders in full armor and bearing lethal arms!”

“You presume that all of them share the will of their sovereign, when that is surely not the case.”

His mouth snapped shut so fast his teeth clicked. 

“Your sister is a good, kind woman, and she has done much in her time as Exalt to undo the damages caused by your father,” Frederick continued gravely, “but while the Plegian sovereign has chosen to follow her example and attempt peace, there is no guarantee that his people or even his host feel the same. The last war was a horrific affair: there is every likelihood that mistrust and even hatred remain for those affected by it -- and should they see an opportunity to strike at their ancestral foe, what will stop them from taking it?”

The prince’s hands clenched at his sides, wordless frustration bubbling up in his chest the longer Frederick spoke. “I _urge_ you, Milord, you _must_ take better care with your safety and your life,” the great knight insisted. At the very least, carry your blade at all times, in the event that you need to defend yourself.”

“Fine,” he muttered. 

“And in the future, I _beg_ you to keep me informed of your intentions that I might do my duty -- something that is _impossible_ when you _disappear_ like that,” Frederick huffed. “And _you,”_ he added, whirling on Sully as she moved to Chrom’s side, “stop _enabling_ this _reckless_ behavior!”

“Hey, I didn’t do nothin’!” she protested, putting her hands up. 

“I know full well how the two of you are, endlessly encouraging one another’s worst impulses,” the great knight snapped. “It was _your_ interference that delayed me when I could have been searching for him--”

“Hey, don’t blame her because _you_ messed up,” Chrom snapped -- and the look Frederick gave him could have melted steel; the only thing that saved them was the knock at the arch announcing that dinner was ready. Making their way down to the dining room, Chrom tore sullenly into the Ylissean-style fare, wondering idly why their group had never eaten any of the things Robin shared with him in the city. He would have to ask, the next time they saw each other…

Or better yet, the next time they escaped. 

\-----

Much to his frustration, it took nearly a fortnight to effect another: Frederick refused to allow Chrom out of his sight except to sleep since their last excursion, and the prince had found the great knight sleeping outside his door on several occasions. On their last day of rest, Robin had offered to give Chrom and the Shepherds a tour of the capital -- a suggestion Frederick had soundly vetoed, conceding (grudgingly) to a tour of the castle and the wyvern rookery in the cliffs instead...and even then, the clanking of his armor pursued them throughout the entire day, making conversation difficult at best. 

That morning, however, Chrom got two surprises: first, when the Ylissean party arrived at the meeting room, his own advisors requested a brief stay to further refine the latest terms regarding potential alliance, leaving the prince effectively free but for his ever-present guard; and second, when the sovereign escorted them to the library for another “cultural discussion,” Mustafa caught them at the door, requesting the great knight’s opinion on some matter that Chrom didn’t manage to catch...and encouraging the young men to go ahead of them. As soon as the door closed behind them, Robin hooked his arm -- and in the next instant they dropped into a jumble of cushions tucked away in the corner of a garden outside the castle walls. 

They passed much of the morning in exploration, watching performers and artists and musicians showcasing their talents to eager onlookers...but more than once, he’d caught people staring at him, either from within the milling groups of spectators or around them on the streets on their wanderings. And though he’d managed to shake the great knight’s presence, his words continued to dog the prince’s steps. 

“Are people here afraid of me?”

Robin gave him a puzzled look, his head tilting slightly to one side while they walked. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s something Frederick said. After the last time we did this. That...there are probably Plegians who hate and mistrust us. But...I’ve been thinking a lot, lately, about how Ylisse has attacked Plegia -- even before my father’s war -- and...I don’t know. I don’t...feel like people I’ve met -- even the ones that attacked the waypoint that first night -- hate me or any of the other Ylisseans, so much as...I guess, after everything Ylisse has done, I just wondered if they were scared, having us here. They’ve been hurt so many times, what if they’re afraid it’ll happen again?”

Glancing over...he saw the young man smiling at him. “The loudest protests I heard when I announced that I would be inviting Ylisse’s Exalt to visit us were fearful ones. They were afraid that doing so would invite more harm. More bloodshed. That the people of the halidom would attack if we brought them within our borders, even strike at our very heart if we gave them the opportunity. And, to be fair to Frederick, there are those who hate the halidom -- unfairly -- for the pain a few have orchestrated in the past, though they are in the minority. ...I hope you’ll forgive me for being blunt, but the enduring fear of the majority is understandable.”

Chrom winced when Robin glanced down at his sword, self-consciously pulling his cape over it. Even though he’d already explained to the sovereign how Frederick wouldn’t let him leave the suite until he had Falchion with him, he still felt uncomfortable wearing it anymore. He’d tried, once, to wear the dagger Robin had gifted him instead; the great knight had forced him to swap it back before he managed five steps. 

“I hope I can help change that for the better,” he murmured. “I still have a lot to learn, though.”

“You’re taking your first steps, though,” the young man beamed. “You’re trying to change. That is key: you cannot succeed without first trying. And I think you’re doing well, so far.”

He couldn’t help but stand a little straighter in the face of that praise. “Thanks. That means a lot, coming from you.” 

They continued on in comfortable silence for a while, making their way down to the market with its chaotically colored stalls. He browsed idly, examining finely woven textiles and elaborately forged jewelry...but as they passed a food vendor, he paused, breathing in the mouth-watering aroma of roasting meat…

“Are you hungry?”

He jumped, ruffling his hair sheepishly when Robin canted his head. “It smells great.”

“Well, it’s been a while since breakfast,” the young man mused, shooing Chrom off toward a nearby bench. He didn’t argue, taking a seat and watching the sovereign speak at some length with the merchant; between the man’s animated gestures and hearty laughter while he worked, the prince couldn’t help but wonder just what they were talking about...but soon enough, Robin bowed his head and took up two bundles, picking his way carefully through the crowd and settling in on the other end of the seat. 

“This is one of my favorites,” he murmured, offering one to the prince. “It’s...a bit like an Ylissean sandwich, if I’m not mistaken?” Taking it in hand, Chrom decided that it was not like any sandwich he’d ever seen: the single thick flatbread had been folded over to hold a pile of seasoned, roasted meat topped with thinly-sliced onion and green and pink pickled...somethings, judging by the smell. “I do hope you like it,” Robin added nervously, watching as Chrom took his first bite…

It was, he was certain, the most amazing thing he had ever eaten. 

His first taste of Plegian cuisine -- _their_ food, not their takes on Ylissean staples -- had been a shocking experience, so much so that over the past few weeks he’d sat down to breakfast and more than once wished he were back in the city with Robin, splitting meat porridge and herb-packed omelets or maybe even trying something entirely new that he couldn’t yet imagine. But _this_ might as well be a _revelation_ \-- how had he gone twenty-one years without knowing something like this _existed?_ And moreover, how could he go back to Ylisse knowing he would never taste it again--

“I-I apologize if it’s not to your liking--”

“If you apologize one more time I’m taking yours and eating it, too.”

Robin blinked at him, and for another moment the prince held his gaze, just to be sure the young man knew he was serious. And then he went back to the flatbread, trying (and arguably failing) to savor rather than outright devour it. When he did finish (and ensured that, yes, there were no missed morsels anywhere), he turned again to the sovereign, who had perhaps managed two bites of his own. Hastily covering his mouth with a sleeve while he chewed and swallowed, Robin offered a worried smile. “Did you enjoy it?”

“It was the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” Chrom replied without hesitation. “Gold is still the common currency here, right? Can I get another?”

“Won’t you ruin your supper?” the young man grinned. 

“It would be worth it,” the prince declared…and paused, watching Robin take another bite of his own wrap. “How come the Ylissean delegation doesn’t get food like this?”

The sovereign took a moment to finish his mouthful, scuffing his boot on the stones beneath his feet. “Well...when we started making arrangements, we wanted you to feel at ease, and food is...comforting. It can call back feelings of home even when you’re far from it. So we sought out recipes from places closer to the border, where things have been shared more freely between our peoples, to prepare for your arrival. Ylissean fare with a Plegian flair is what we hoped to achieve.”

“Well, you managed that well enough,” Chrom muttered. “But...it’s not really showing off _Plegia,_ is it?”

Robin picked at the edge of his bread, rolling bits between his thumb and forefinger until they crumbled to nothing. “There was...concern...that pushing too much on you would be overwhelming, and potentially sour Ylissean opinions of us further.” 

And, the prince mused, the display at the Border Pass probably hadn’t helped that feeling. “This is delicious, though. And it’s a shame that you don’t feel like you can share it with us. We’re already missing out because Frederick won’t let us do anything but trade negotiations...getting a real taste of Plegia would help, I think.”

“...alright,” the young man conceded. “If you think it would be welcome -- I apologize for not considering it soone--”

Reaching over, Chrom grabbed the wrap from Robin’s hands. “I warned you,” he grinned, lifting it high and away when the Plegian lunged for it. 

“Give it back!” he protested, more laughter than ire in his voice. 

“I told you what was going to happen!” the prince teased, leaning as far back as he could without falling. “But I _guess_ I could give it back if you answer a question for me.”

“What?” Robin asked, still trying to snatch his meal back. 

“Why do you apologize so much?”

The young man stopped. And sat back, allowing Chrom to warily sit up again. “...I...I don’t want to cause offense,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his hand in an increasingly familiar nervous gesture. “I’m...I don’t mean any offense, but there’s a part of _me_ that’s afraid, as well. Of making a misstep, and unraveling any progress I might have made. Of causing another war, or at the very least destroying any chance of peace, through some failing, however minor it may seem. So...when I fear that I may have erred, I apologize in hopes that it will allow me an opportunity to undo it.”

“...Robin, I _really_ hate to bring this up, but did you forget that I _legitimately thought Tharja was you?_ ”

The young sovereign’s mouth twitched into a smile. 

And then he giggled. 

Suddenly he was laughing, warm and helpless, nearly doubled over from the force of it. “You _did!”_ he wheezed. “You _did,_ you _actually addressed her as me,_ and it was _so hard to keep a straight face --_ I-I know I shouldn’t laugh, but it was _so funny…”_

“You _should_ laugh,” the prince grinned. “It was easily the most embarrassing moment of my life, but you didn’t decide to call things off, even though you had every right to. You gave me another chance, after a _massive_ blunder: you’ll have to do a lot worse than feeding me something I don’t immediately love to make me give up. Alright?”

“...alright,” Robin nodded, wiping his eyes with the hem of his sleeve before taking back the wrap Chrom offered. “Thank you, Prince Chrom.”

“Just Chrom is fine, you know,” he pointed out, “since you let me call you Robin. The formality just feels...weird.”

“I doubt Frederick would approve.”

“Frederick doesn’t approve of anything,” the prince grumbled. 

“And here I thought that contrariness was just a figment of my imagination.” 

Chrom snorted, nudging the young man’s shoulder as he settled back. Part of him was still sorely tempted to get another wrap from that merchant, and he did carry a bit of gold for emergencies -- he’d gladly ruin _any_ of his regular meals if it meant getting more of this fare…

“Hey. Can I ask you a favor?”

Robin glanced over at him, making a quiet sound that the prince took for encouragement. “Tomorrow’s going to be another long day of diplomacy, I’m sure. So...how about you join us for breakfast. And make everything Plegian. The flatbreads and spreads, the meat porridge, the omelets, whatever else you usually have. All of it.”

“...you’re certain?”

“Completely.”

“...then I’ll see what I can do,” the young sovereign agreed, finishing his snack and dusting off his gloves. “For now, though, what say we continue? There are still a few hours yet before dusk.”

“I’d love to,” Chrom replied eagerly, jumping up and helping Robin to his feet. “Lead the way.”

\-----

They warped back into the library just before dusk to the sound of Frederick’s frantic calls from somewhere much too close to their landing spot. Picking themselves up, they moved out into the maze of shelves to greet him and apologize for disappearing again...and based on the great knight’s pinched expression, he still had no evidence to prove they’d been anywhere but the library where they claimed. 

It didn’t stop him from shadowing the prince through the rest of the evening, or from fretting over him when he barely picked at his dinner. The second wrap he’d indulged in on their way back through the market had likely been a mistake. 

Worthwhile, though. 

Chrom was a habitually early riser, and had been for as long as he could remember. Though there were no church bells here, he still found himself rising not long after dawn, though with little to do in his room (and Frederick to worry about if he dared try to go exploring), he was getting into the habit of lying awake, listening to the sounds of the castle stirring while his own companions slept…

But today, a knock sounded somewhere close by. And then a very familiar voice, breaking the morning quiet: “Good morning. May I come in?”

Hastily throwing on trousers and tunic, the prince tumbled out into the common room -- only to find that Frederick had beaten him by a wide margin, and Robin stood smiling near the center of the room. “Good morning!” Chrom beamed. “What brings you so early?”

“Well, as I recall you asked me to join you for breakfast this morning,” the young man replied, the corners of his eyes crinkling even as he held the same calm smile. 

“Did you, now,” the great knight said. 

The prince ignored the unspoken warning. “Yes! Does that mean…”

Robin inclined his head. “Indeed. And I thought that today would be a perfect day for touring the city, since you have only seen the castle and the rookeries so far--”

“We have much yet to deliberate,” Frederick cut in. “It would behoove us to tend to those matters first and foremost.”

“Today is a day of rest,” the young sovereign remarked smoothly. “There will be no negotiations today, and so your schedules are therefore clear, as is mine. Yes?”

“Perhaps I am mistaken, but are your days of rest not every eight days?” the great knight countered. 

“No, they are determined by the phases of the moon,” Robin smiled, his lips twitching into a triumphant little grin. “We rest when the moon is full and new and when it comes to half. Often it is eight days between them, but sometimes it is seven, and today is a half moon. So we rest.”

Frederick’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Our time could be better spent--”

“Our time would be _best_ spent taking in the city while we have a chance,” the prince interrupted, trying to hook his hand into his baldric only to realize he hadn’t put it on yet. “Is that why you’re here so early?”

“In part yes,” Robin agreed. “Breakfast should be ready shortly, if you would care to join me.”

“So early?” the great knight asked. 

“It’s...traditional,” the young sovereign said, rubbing the back of his hand. 

“Give me two minutes,” Chrom grinned. 

“Milord, I _must_ protest,” Frederick started even as the prince dove back into his room and rushed through the rest of his dressing, combing his hair and donning boots and baldric (and sword, though only when the great knight’s warning look sent him sulking back for it) before returning to Robin’s side. Several other members of the delegation, including most of the Shepherds, had roused with the activity in the common area, and the sleepy crowd stumbled in uneven file down the hall and to the familiar dining room.

The smell reached them long before they arrived. Chrom’s mouth watered as he followed the young sovereign inside, scanning the low tables already prepared with heaping plates of flatbread, pots of tea, dishes of condiments, porridge and omeletes to share, and a bowl of meat swimming in golden broth before each seat. “This is new,” he murmured, waving to Henry and Tharja who had already claimed their places. 

“Well, you did say you wanted to try what we usually have,” Robin grinned, settling next to Henry while the prince sat by his other side. “This is...more occasional than usual, but given that we have a long day ahead, it seemed like something worth offering. You’re by no means obligated to eat it, if it’s not to your liking...”

Chrom didn’t so much as hesitate, digging into the soup before the young man finished. It was warm and rich, the meat tender and savory, and following the Plegians’ examples he dipped some of the bread in the broth to avoid wasting even a drop. “Gotta say, this beats Frederick’s porridge by a long shot,” Sully mumbled through her own mouthful. “What is this?”

“Goat,” Robin replied, dipping another bite into the soup. 

“Tastes better’n any goat I’ve ever had before,” she scoffed. 

The young man took a breath...and paused, looking down at his bowl for a long moment before sighing and closing his eyes. “...in the desert, survival depends on making full use of everything we have,” he explained, tearing off another piece of bread and scooping some meat into it. “Goats are very important, in that regard: they’re hardy animals that will graze on most anything available, and we in turn make widespread use of them. We drink their milk, weave their hair into textiles, eat their meat, treat their hide to make leather--”

“Their blood’s good in magic stuff, too!” Henry piped up.

“--and craft their bones into tools and talismans. We use everything, from the head to the hooves,” he murmured, offering the bread to Chrom, “which is what this is made from: the head and hooves, cooked through the night with spices.”

The prince was fairly sure he heard Frederick gag. 

“So...the whole head?” Chrom ventured, taking the morsel Robin held out to him. 

“...yeah, I’m pretty sure your breakfast is lookin’ at you,” Sully pointed out. He twitched, looking more closely at what he held...and, sure enough, it appeared to be an eye. 

“What!? No fair!!” Henry whined, tugging on Robin’s sleeve. “I wanted it, that’s the best part!”

“It is traditional to offer it to guests of honor first,” the sovereign said, fretfully crumbling a piece of bread into his soup. “But please, do not feel obligated to--”

“Do you put anything on it?” Chrom asked. 

“...a bit of salt and lemon, most often,” Robin mumbled. 

“Oh, in _Naga’s name,_ Milord, _please_ refrain,” the great knight begged; the prince ignored him, adding a pinch of salt and a squeeze of citrus before eating it in one bite. 

It was...different, to say the least. The taste was no stronger than any other part of the soup, though the condiments made it somewhat bolder...but the texture was strange, and left an odd feeling in his mouth even after he swallowed. “Huh,” he muttered, chewing over another bite of broth-soaked bread to clear away the remnants. “Not so bad.”

“It’s an acquired taste,” the sovereign admitted. 

“Well, maybe it’s just one I haven’t acquired yet -- I’m glad I tried it, though,” Chrom chuckled, digging back into his bowl. 

Robin smiled, something so warm and brilliant that it left the prince dumbstruck. “Thank you,” he murmured. And all Chrom could do was nod in reply, unable to find any words at all. 


	4. Dress Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The longest day of the year holds special importance on both sides of the border. Rather than celebrate the day in Ylissean style with his group, Chrom chooses to see it from the Plegian perspective, and comes to understand far more about their history and their faith -- and about their sovereign.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to spice things up with a dash of drama. 
> 
> Worldbuilding is one of my favorite parts of writing, and Awakening's particular dichotomy between Ylisse and Plegia makes for an interesting opportunity to have shared days of celebration with entirely different moods. I've written about their [winter solstice celebration](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12162963/chapters/27604182) before, and about the [Ylissean celebration for the summer solstice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15367788/chapters/35660376), but this was a perfect opportunity to tackle it from the Plegian perspective, and I couldn't pass it up. 
> 
> As always, dashes (-) indicate a change of scene; additionally, asterisks (*) indicate a change of perspective. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

For better or worse, the soup did not become a routine part of the delegation’s breakfast; however, other Plegian staples appeared alongside the familiar Ylissean dishes with increasing frequency...and more often than not, Robin joined them with Henry or Tharja in tow, depending on which of them had not stayed up all night preparing magic experiments. With the negotiations becoming more tedious by the day as the Ylissean party continued to squabble over fair and appropriate values for trade goods -- a matter of major concern, apparently, since Plegian spices hadn’t been legally imported to the halidom for the better part of three decades -- Chrom had more freedom to excuse himself from the meeting table…

And yet, more often than not, he stayed. Diplomacy was not his strong suit, and the endless debates over minutiae were boring at best (and actively mind-numbing at worst)...but when Robin took his place at the table, he remained from beginning to end, and the prince saw little point in leaving without the sovereign’s accompaniment. 

So when the discussion started to become unbearable, he watched Robin. His expressions, his posture -- the subtle shifts in how he held himself spoke volumes when Chrom gave them his full attention: there was boredom in his loosely-clasped hands and the way his fingers tapped out idle patterns on his knuckles, frustration in the brief flare of his nostrils when someone said something insensitive, curiosity in every slight cant of his head...and the slightest crinkle of a hidden smile at the corners of his eyes whenever he caught the prince looking his way. 

Chrom always sat up a little straighter when he saw that. 

On those occasions when they did escape Frederick’s supervision, the lengthening days gave them ever more time to explore the city and all it had to offer, from the galleries housing art and historic artifacts to the magic academy -- where, true to Robin’s warning near the start of their journey, he found Miriel neck-deep in new studies alongside seasoned Plegian mages and their young apprentices. And even though he knew the height of summer was fast approaching (and with it, their return to Ylisse would inevitably become the great knight’s most pressing concern), the prince pushed it from his mind as often as he could, living each day as it came and looking forward only to his next adventure with Plegia’s young sovereign. 

With each outing, their secretive returns to the castle skirted closer and closer to full dark...until one evening Robin kept them out late, sharing pistachio cookies and wandering the cool gardens near the castle until the moon crested the great skull overlooking the castle courtyard -- and even though he _dreaded_ the lecture he’d get from Frederick, all thoughts of that vanished when Chrom saw scattered bushes bursting into bloom under the waxing moon’s light. 

“Night-flowering jasmine,” the sovereign explained, lifting a branch to show off the whorled white flowers. “They started a few nights ago: it’s always just a handful at first, but within a week they fill the gardens until morning. Their blooming heralds the longest day.”

“I can’t believe how late it’s gotten,” the prince admitted. “Emm’s probably getting ready for the Festival…”

“The one that kept her from visiting, yes?” Robin murmured. 

“Yeah, it’s…” He caught himself before saying something he would likely regret, rubbing at the back of his neck while he tried to find words less likely to offend. “The longest day of the year is a big event, in Ylisse. Probably our biggest festival day: the whole city’s decorated with flowers and banners, there’s lots of food, music, plays...everybody in Ylisstol comes out to celebrate.”

“I apologize for keeping you from such an important event,” the young man said -- and blinked in confusion when Chrom snatched the purse of confections out of his hand. 

“I know we talked about the whole apologizing thing,” he mumbled around another cookie.

“...so we did,” Robin chuckled. “But the fact remains that the festival is important for you, and you’re unable to take part this year.”

“I don’t mind,” the prince shrugged, offering the pouch back. “I’ve seen the main play so many times that I can recite most of it by heart. And if I really wanted to, I could observe it on my own, right?”

“I suppose so,” the young man agreed, nibbling thoughtfully on another treat. “Please feel free to -- is there anything you would need in order to organize it? I would gladly see about providing--”

“Trust me, Frederick’s probably got it all planned already,” Chrom groaned. “I’d rather do something with you than miss out by making a big fuss about an Ylissean holiday.”

The sovereign’s smile seemed more worried than relieved, though. “The longest day would be a fine occasion to spend with your friends and comrades,” he murmured. “My time will be short, I fear.”

The prince felt his heart sink. “Why?”

Robin shook his head. “It is a holy day for us, as well.”

“Really?” he asked, curiosity perking him back up. "What kind?”

The young man said nothing for a moment, instead lifting a flowering branch and breathing in the fragrance; even without getting so close, Chrom could smell the sweet perfume in the air all around them as more and more blooms opened to greet the moon. And despite the pause, Robin still seemed uneasy when he finally turned toward the prince again, rubbing the back of his right hand and struggling to meet Chrom’s eye. “It’s...not a day of celebration. Not the way it is in the halidom. It’s--”

“How did I know you would be here.”

They both jumped, the prince stepping instinctively between Plegia’s sovereign and the speaker...only to relax when Mustafa strode out of the dark, planting his fists on his hips as he stopped before them. “You are late for supper,” he began, looking over Chrom’s shoulder at Robin, “and _you_ are driving your warden mad, who is in turn driving _me_ mad,” he finished, looking directly at the prince. "You both need to stop using the library maze as an excuse for your disappearances.”

“What disappearances?” Chrom replied automatically (and, as foolish as he might have felt in the moment under Mustafa’s wry stare, the snort of laughter behind him made the fumble worth it).

“I suggest you come with me,” the berserker sighed. “It would be best if you refrained from sneaking back in through the library: I imagine you will be getting enough of an earful from Sir Frederick as it is, without adding an obvious lie on top.”

Well, at least the man was trying to spare him further pain. “Thank you, sir.”

Nodding, Mustafa marched through the gardens and toward the palace with prince and sovereign both in tow. No one spoke on the trip back to the castle, nor as they made their way through the halls to the dining room where Chrom could hear his fellows enjoying their evening meal. “Should I see Sir Frederick, I will inform him that I found you here,” the berserker bowed. “Enjoy your evening, Prince Chrom.”

“Good evening, Prince Chrom,” the sovereign echoed. 

“Good evening, Robin. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. “Indeed. I look forward to it.”

Lifting his hand in a parting wave, the young man left with Mustafa close behind; the prince waited until they turned a corner and vanished from sight before entering the dining hall, weaving his way through the busy room and joining Sully and Sumia at their table. “Well, look who it is!” the cavalier crowed. “Where’ve you been? I was startin’ to think the wyverns ate you!”

“Oh, here and there,” Chrom grinned. “Unless Frederick asks. Then I’ve been right here.”

“Of course,” she snickered, elbowing him hard enough in the side to make him keel over. But they all laughed as he picked himself up again, and for a while longer he put aside thoughts of the future to enjoy the present company. 

\-----

Chrom immediately knew when the longest day of the year arrived, because the moment he set foot outside his room he found their common area bedecked in pastel banners. He had a feeling Frederick had been up half the night preparing for it...but, the prince noticed, the great knight was nowhere in sight. Poking his head out into the hall, he could hear the clanking of armor growing louder -- but when he saw the man approaching with an armload of flowers obscuring his view, he didn’t hesitate, slipping out of the room and making a break for the dining hall...

Two steps inside and he stopped dead in his tracks.

Robin, somewhat surprisingly, was already there, along with both Henry and Tharja; judging by their empty plates, they must not have been there long...but all three of them wore unornamented white robes in place of their usual gold-trimmed black and violet garb, and the jewelry the young sovereign’s retainers both favored was curiously absent.

Looking up at him, Robin’s face broke into a warm smile. “Good morning, Prince Chrom,” he called, bowing slightly and gesturing to the place beside him. “I hope you slept well?”

“Fine,” he agreed, slowly moving to take the offered seat. “What’s...all this?”

The young man looked confused when Chrom gestured to them -- but only for a moment; in the next, he lifted one of his pale sleeves, seeming to realize for the first time that something was different. “Oh, this? It’s traditional for the longest day.”

“The holy day you mentioned, right?” he ventured, serving himself a generous helping of porridge before passing the bowl down the table. “We do something similar in Ylisse, actually: everyone wears light colors, pink and blue and yellow...though the clothes can get pretty elaborate. Lots of embroidery, especially flowers and leaves, sometimes birds and butterflies...”

“It must be quite a sight,” Robin murmured, gently turning away the flatbread Chrom offered. 

“Is something wrong?” he asked, the sudden swell of anxiety turning his hunger into a queasy ache; the young sovereign’s appetite was almost comical, especially for someone so lean, and the prince had more than once watched him polish off an extra helping after Chrom himself was stuffed. “Are you not feeling well?”

“Oh, no, not at all, it’s...also tradition,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his undyed gloves. “The longest day is a day of fasting. From sunrise to sunset we only drink water -- those who are able, at least.”

The prince looked guiltily down at his bowl, the porridge already half gone. “Is...is it offensive to eat around you when you can’t have any?” he asked. 

Henry looked to Tharja, who shrugged in turn; but Robin only shook his head. “Not at all. It’s here for you to enjoy.”

It still felt strange, though. Especially since he could practically see Henry’s mouth watering in the presence of so much food he couldn’t have. “So, uh. What brings you all down here?”

“Our sovereign insisted on coming,” Tharja replied smoothly, “and we’re on strict orders to ensure that he keeps his schedule. He has important duties to prepare for this evening, and we can’t have him forgetting and showing up either late or unprepared.”

“Or both!” Henry giggled. 

Robin looked somewhere between sheepish and resigned. “They don’t want me running off all day, is what it amounts to. So they put Henry and Tharja on the job. When it comes to keeping up with me, they’re really the only two who can: there are few mages more capable with scrying than Tharja, and Henry’s hecraft is second to none, so working together they can usually round me up in little enough time.”

Both mages sat up a little straighter at their sovereign’s praise, and he swore he saw a trace of a smile soften Tharja’s habitual frown. “You honor us,” she murmured, bowing her head, “but we still intend to keep you on schedule.”

“I expected nothing less,” he sighed. “Will there at least be some time this morning to go into the city?”

“...I suppose,” she conceded. “Though I will be minding the time.”

“Thank you, Tharja,” he chuckled (and Chrom was _certain_ he saw a smile now). 

“Could I come along?” the prince asked. 

Both retainers looked to their sovereign -- and Chrom saw the corners of his eyes crinkle before he bowed his head. “Of course, Prince Chrom. Though, you are more than welcome to remain here, and observe this as a festival day with your companions: from what I understand, Sir Frederick requested all the flowers we could reasonably provide…”

“Yeah, I saw him with an armload before I came to breakfast,” he muttered. “I’d rather avoid getting dragged into whatever he has planned.”

“Is it really gonna be that bad?” Henry asked. 

“Knowing Frederick, it’ll be worse than I’m expecting.”

While the dark mage proceeded to try and guess what the great knight had in store, Chrom polished off his meal, watching a few more Ylisseans trickle into the dining room for breakfast (though thankfully Frederick was not among them). When he stood, all three Plegians rose and followed him out of the room--

“Milord!”

“Oh, gods, here we go,” the prince muttered under his breath. Raking a hand through his hair, he drew in a breath and turned to face the great knight clanking down the hall toward them. “Good morning, Frederick.”

“Good morning, Milord,” the great knight replied cheerfully, “and a blessed Day of Light to you all.”

Henry and Tharja both followed their sovereign’s lead when he bowed -- but Frederick’s words might as well have been a slap in the face, for how Robin’s nostrils flared. “Do you need me for something?” Chrom asked, smoothly placing himself between the Plegians and his warden. 

“Indeed! I have most everything prepared for the celebration: Sumia kindly agreed to assist with the flower garlands, so all that’s left is your attire. I brought several sets for you to choose from, and I thought that you might address the party, since we won’t be able to witness Her Grace’s customary speech following the--”

“Not right now,” the prince interrupted. “I don’t...I haven’t prepared anything, so I’d need some time.”

“Of course, Milord,” the great knight agreed, escorting Chrom back through the halls toward the Ylissean suite. “You should have ample time while we put the finishing touches on the preparations -- now, as for your attire…”

Just before Frederick chivvied him inside, the prince saw the three Plegians in the hall, varying degrees of amusement and exasperation on their faces; that alone made him eager to get out as soon as possible. Waving to Sumia -- who had, by some miracle, recruited Sully to help her with the garlands -- he grudgingly followed the great knight into his room where several sets of handsomely embroidered clothes in colors ranging from sky blue to spring green had been laid out for inspection. The only one even close to white was a suit in creamy yellow that reminded him of Lissa’s favorite dresses, though sadly it was the least flattering color on him; in the end, he chose the blue, and after suffering through Frederick’s help in re-dressing and adjusting the lay of his baldric and blade, he discreetly slipped out while the man put away the rest of the clothes and escaped the common room with a silent parting wave to the cavalier and pegasus knight still hard at work weaving flowers into chains. 

Shoving his way back out into the hall, he was relieved to find Robin and his entourage waiting by the near wall -- though not necessarily patiently, given Henry’s groan at the prince’s arrival. “I thought you’d _never_ come out--”

Chrom lifted a finger to his lips for quiet, and the dark mage instantly clapped both hands over his mouth, looking at least mildly apologetic. Though he said nothing, the sovereign’s shoulders still shook with silent laughter as he guided them through the palace and, surprisingly, out the front gate. “No library warp today?” the prince asked, keeping his voice low to avoid Henry or Tharja overhearing. 

“No need,” the young man chuckled, leaning in so that only Chrom could hear his quiet words. “With Tharja’s skills we’d be found within an hour, and then our time would be entirely up. This way, at least, we have a bit more to work with.”

Beaming, the prince fell easily into step at Robin’s side, trying to keep his excitement in check while they made their way into the city. “So, you said that today’s a holy day. What kind is it?”

And just like that, the sovereign’s calm faltered again, much like it had in the gardens: he glanced sidelong at Chrom, then down at his hands, folding them left over right and for once seeming to struggle with his words. “It’s...a bit difficult to explain.”

“You said it wasn’t a festival like we have in Ylisse,” the prince offered. “What does it celebrate?”

“...’celebrate’ is perhaps not the right word,” Robin murmured. “‘Honor’ would be more apt.”

Before he could press, a familiar scent reached him. “Do you smell jasmine?” he asked. “Is there a garden around? I thought you said they only bloomed at night…”

“They do,” the young man agreed. “And always shortly before the longest day. We gather the blossoms and distill a fragrance from them.”

“Are you wearing it, too?” Robin nodded, as did both of his retainers. Chrom hadn’t noticed...though, in all fairness, the smell of food within the dining hall had probably overpowered it. “So do you only wear it today?”

“...no.” The young man hesitated, taking a slow breath, as though to steady his nerves. “It’s...customary to wear it at funerals, as well. Along with the white robes.”

The prince stopped dead, looking around the crowded street. “Is...is the longest day to honor someone who died?” 

Robin nodded again, rubbing the back of his hand. “Many someones, in truth. The longest day is our Day of Remembrance, honoring all those who lost their lives to outside aggressions...beginning with our divine, who lost His life on this day more than a thousand years ago.”

Chrom very suddenly wished that he had skipped breakfast. Swallowing back the queasy guilt lodged in the back of his throat, he took a deep breath of his own...and as the Plegian sovereign gently took hold of his arm, the prince looked up at him, steeling his resolve for what he knew he needed to do. 

“Tell me everything.”

\-----

He hadn’t known he could be more grateful to Robin than he already was. The young sovereign had been endlessly patient with him already, enduring more blunders than Chrom could count, and still going out of his way to show the prince his city, share its wonders (cultural and culinary both) with him...and now, when Chrom felt sure he’d topple under the weight of something he could barely fathom, Robin held him up and guided them all to the nearest shaded terrace, helping the prince to a seat before setting close beside him. 

“I won’t stray,” he promised, waving Henry and Tharja off; the young woman only frowned and took a few steps back, settling in a shaded spot and drawing a book from her satchel to read while her fellow dark mage began to wander and inspect the hardy shrubs growing around the courtyard. Turning back to Chrom, the young sovereign looked...almost pained, folding his hands tight to keep them still. “Are you certain?”

“Yes,” he croaked. “I...you heard Frederick. You know what Ylisse is celebrating. The legends we’ve enshrined, the history we pass down -- gods, the stage play I have memorized because they do it every year without changing a word...it’s all been from our side. I ne...I need to hear it. All of it. What today is for Plegia, what it all means to you. Please.”

For just a moment, Robin folded his fingers over the prince’s hand. “If you’re certain,” he whispered. And then he withdrew, taking a deep, steadying breath and blowing it out in a slow sigh. “Grima was Plegia’s protector,” he began. “Long ago, He came to this land from the direction of the setting sun, a great Divine endlessly soaring on wings that summoned storms with a single beat. It was said that His Six Eyes could see the full measure of those who came before Him -- from their innermost thoughts to their greatest talents to their most heartfelt desire -- and beneath the shelter of His Wings and the guidance of His Sight, our people began to thrive. Scattered villages, small towns, quiet crossroads and bustling harbors, all united by the dragon they called their Divine. When armies approached from beyond our borders, Grima always flew to meet them, and if they proved themselves to be threats to His People, He razed them without hesitation. Those who witnessed His Wrath dubbed him ‘Breath of Ruin,’ ‘Wings of Despair’...’Fell Dragon.’ And the last we kept, for Grima was fell in truth: our fiercest protector, and our greatest champion.”

He paused, seeming to take a moment to collect his thoughts and drawing circles on the back of his right glove. “And then, a thousand years ago, the Divine from beyond the eastern mountains -- Naga -- decreed that Grima’s presence would no longer be tolerated. She made a pact with a human, whose army marched into our lands...and with Naga’s help, her chosen slew Grima as He fought to defend His People. Our Divine, who had ever flown above our skies, came at last to rest upon the lands He chose as His Own. This was our first great tragedy: Grima’s Fall, the loss of our Divine and guardian, on the longest day when Naga’s powers were at their height and Grima’s at their weakest.”

Lacing his fingers tight, Chrom pressed his hands to his forehead. “Why?” he whispered. “Why did Naga do it?”

Robin’s hand settled on his shoulder. “No one knows. Not in Plegia, at least. We know only that Naga came to back her champion, who swore that Grima’s evil would no longer threaten the land. But Grima was not evil. Not to us. And with His loss, His People mourned, and fear and chaos ruled as Naga’s followers sought to wipe out any who called Grima their divine.”

His head came up, dread knotting in his stomach. “What?”

The young man nodded. “Many of Grima’s followers fled before the battle. Those who did not -- those who chose to fight alongside their Divine, and who did not retreat after His Fall -- were cut down. But the desert proved inhospitable for Naga’s followers, and they were soon enough forced to return to the east. Grima’s People, who had scattered to the winds after His Fall, at last began to make their way back, banding together to establish Plegia as the Grimleal Nation, united by their faith in the Divine who once flew over their lands, and whose bones now stood watch over them instead.” 

Suddenly it made a lot more sense why they’d rigged the skull up as an emergency shelter. 

“The people from Naga’s lands -- which became the Halidom of Ylisse under the leadership of Naga’s chosen, and whose descendants continued to lead by virtue of their Brand -- did not take kindly to the fledgling nation that swore its allegiance to another Divine. There have been countless conflicts over the past thousand years that all stem from this source: some minor, ending at mutual shows of strength along the shared border -- hence the fortifications in the Border Pass -- and others major, with great battles and great bloodshed. And some have been great tragedies, threatening to destroy us and all we hold dear.”

“...my father’s war,” the prince whispered. “That was a great tragedy. Wasn’t it.”

“...yes,” Robin murmured. “Not the first. But...my hope is that it will be the last. That perhaps...by working together, we can _make_ it the last.”

Drawing in a shuddering breath, Chrom lifted his head, meeting the young sovereign’s eye as steadily as he could. “I hope so, too. And I’ll do everything I can to make it real.”

Robin smiled at him, warm and kind and crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “Thank you, Prince Chrom.”

“Just ‘Chrom’ is fine,” he repeated helplessly. 

Chuckling quietly, the young man leaned against his shoulder, close enough for the prince to catch a whiff of jasmine. “Thank you, Chom,” he amended. 

Suddenly his heart felt like it was beating in his throat, and he struggled to swallow it back so he could speak. “So...so today is like a memorial, to honor everyone you’ve lost in those wars. What about the clothes, and the perfume?”

“That’s tradition,” Robin explained. “Black and violet are the colors of the Grimleal faith: Grima’s Scales were black as night, His Feathers violet like the thunderstorms stirred by His Wings, and so we chose them as reminders of our Divine after His Fall. White, though, became our color of mourning; a thousand years might have weathered them, but in the beginning Grima’s Bones were bleached white by the sun, a reminder of our loss and our grief and our sorrow. So the color came to embody those feelings. And eventually, the white jasmine flowers that start their bloom just before our Day of Remembrance became a symbol of our mourning, as well: they’re also called Grima’s Tears, and their abundant bloom is said to be a sign of His Grief at how we have suffered since His Fall.”

It was only when the young man shifted that Chrom realized he’d been leaning into Robin’s touch; scrambling to catch himself before he slipped and tumbled into the Plegian’s lap, the prince offered a sheepish grin, folding his hands a few times in his lap. “Is...can I ask how you mourn today? The white robes and the jasmine, and you said you fast until sunset…”

“There is an early morning ceremony, as well,” Robin murmured. “We have a formal one in our temples of worship just before dawn, but some choose to hold a private observance with their families at home. It’s rather simple, a reading of Grima’s final words to His People reminding them to have heart and keep their hope alive no matter what trials may come -- many believe that Grima foresaw His Fall, and offered that blessing knowing that there were countless hardships yet to come. Through the day we fast and pray, and people gather in the temples and cemeteries to sing dirges in memory of those lost. And at dusk there is the Sunset Sermon in the castle courtyard alongside Grima’s skull.”

Well, he had already missed the sunrise service. “Do we have time to go around a bit? Would...would it be alright if I heard some of it? The prayers, or the songs, or…”

They both glanced up at Tharja, who looked up in the sudden silence before shading her eyes and gazing skyward. “It’s not midday yet. We can continue.”

“Thank you,” Robin smiled, rising to his feet and offering his hand down to Chrom; the prince took it gratefully, falling into step beside the young man while Tharja rounded up Henry and followed swiftly in their wake. 

As they wandered the streets, Chrom began to hear strains of music coming from all quarters, mournful enough to make his heart ache even without hearing the words. They paused sometimes outside of crowded courtyards where groups had gathered, families and friends taking turns reciting unfamiliar verses they clearly knew by heart. Solidarity in the face of overwhelming odds. Strength in the midst of hardship. Hope fighting back despair. Messages little different from those he’d heard all his life, even if the words were changed. 

Midday passed without his notice: it was only when Tharja cleared her throat and reminded Robin of his schedule that he realized their shadows were beginning to lengthen. Walking quietly at the young man’s side, he turned everything over in his head, from the sovereign’s words to the prayers he’d heard to the laments echoing through the once busy streets now gone still. He hardly even noticed when they passed through the castle gate and entered the shaded halls...but when the Plegians stopped, he stumbled back into the present, giving Robin a questioning look. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m afraid that the rest of my day has been spoken for,” the sovereign explained, idly rubbing circles over the back of his right glove. “I likely won’t see you until tomorrow.”

“What are you doing this evening?” Chrom asked. “You...there’s a Sunset Sermon you said? Are you giving it?”

“Oh, no,” Robin chuckled (though he sounded more nervous than amused). “The hierophant gives the Sunset Sermon. But I am Plegia’s sovereign. I have my own address to offer after the sermon is done.”

“Like Emm,” the prince ventured. “She always gives a speech after the Festival’s main performance.” Something Frederick wanted him to make here in her stead. “Does it take that long to get ready?”

“It’s...an intricate process,” the young man mumbled. “And I still have to prepare for the speech itself.”

“...can I help?”

They all stared at him for a moment. And then Henry and Tharja looked to Robin. “I don’t know what I could do, exactly,” Chrom continued, feeling awkward but trying to meet the young man’s gaze anyway, “but if there’s anything I _can_ do...I’d like to.”

The blank shock on Robin’s face shifted into a shy smile. “Um. A-alright. If...if you want.” Gesturing for the prince to follow, he turned into a passage that Chrom had never been down, winding up a narrow spiral stair, crossing another hall and mounting a second stairway, and finally pausing outside a set of dark violet curtains woven with the six-eyed pattern he’d come to recognize as the mark of the Grimleal faith. 

Lifting one side, the young sovereign gestured for the prince to enter...and as he ducked through, Chrom briefly found himself at a loss. The Ylissean suite had seemed lavish, with its blue and green cushions and drapes, carved ornaments, and tables inlaid with colored stones; but all that was _nothing_ compared to the room before him. Intricate engravings covered every wall, lush violet fabrics made up every seat and pillow, gold figures with gemstone embellishments stood on proud display wherever he looked...and when he chanced a glance toward the ceiling, he saw the fell dragon’s image carved into the stone, a ruby the size of his fist for each of the six eyes. 

“It’s a bit much, isn’t it.”

The prince tore his gaze back down to see Robin fidgeting beside him. “Is this your room?” he asked, trying not to gawk any more than he already had. 

“My family’s suite,” the young man corrected. “This is the common room. I’ve always found it a bit excessive, but my father says there’s history in everything, so they stay.”

As Tharja shooed the young sovereign past the curtains into another room, Chrom tried to follow...only to have her bar him at the arch. “You stay here,” she insisted -- and the prince didn’t dare test his luck when her glare promised terrors he couldn’t name. So while Henry hummed past, Chrom leaned back against the wall, listening for a while to the quiet sounds coming from behind the screen. “You don’t talk much about your parents,” he called. “Are either of them still with you?”

“Both of them are,” Robin replied. “My father holds rank with the Grimleal, and my mother is a healer.”

“...wait. How did you become sovereign, then?”

“Succession of rule is very different here in Plegia,” the young man chuckled. “We have no dynasties: when a ruler dies, six of the nation’s preeminent mages -- one for each of Grima’s Eyes -- come together to act as diviners of Grima’s Will and determine who will next lead the nation as His Voice.”

“Huh. So...the last sovereign died when you were eighteen?”

“The last ruler joined Grima when I was fifteen, actually. Since I hadn’t attained my majority yet, the diviners chose a regent for the intervening years -- though that was something of a special case.”

Before he could press, the curtains parted, and Robin moved back into the room clad in black and violet robes...but while the color was familiar, the painstaking gold embroidery at every hem was not, nor was the cut that left it open almost to his navel. 

Suddenly it was very difficult to find any words at all, let alone the presence of mind to speak them. 

Glancing first at the prince, then down at his outfit, the young sovereign hastily pulled the robe closed (and Chrom swore he saw Robin’s well-tanned face darken in a blush). “The jewelry to secure it comes later,” he mumbled hastily. 

Why that disappointed him, the prince couldn’t say. 

“S-so. Um. Y-you said you have a speech tonight, right? That you need to prepare for?” he ventured, fumbling for something to say that wouldn’t embarrass him further. 

“Yes!” the young man sighed, all but throwing himself into the conversation (much to Chrom’s relief). “I’ve been working on a few different ideas, about hope and strength and understanding -- this is only the fourth time I’ve done this, so I’m still nervous about it; the hierophant assures me that the more I do it the easier it becomes, but I don’t think he’s ever been nervous about anything in his life,” he muttered, beginning to pace circles around the room. 

“Which one do you like best?” the prince asked, jogging alongside him and dodging Tharja as she began arranging a staggering amount of gold jewelry on the nearest table. 

Robin smiled, his stride slowing just enough for Chrom to fall into step with him. “The one about hope. But the trouble is that I want to keep some...unity, I suppose, between my own speech and the Sunset Sermon. And the hierophant writes a new one every year.”

“Really? Gods, in Ylisse they just put on the same play every Festival. I don’t even think they’ve changed the costumes since I was seven.”

“No wonder you have it memorized,” the young man laughed. “There are certain elements to the Sunset Sermon that remain from year to year: the eulogy to Grima, the memorial of the lost...it, er, tends to be a rather heavy speech. So I try to keep my own words lighter -- not levity, but...uplifting. And I’d like to call back to elements from the Sermon to bolster the message.”

“Have you talked to the hierophant about it?”

“Not yet,” Robin sighed. “I haven’t seen him since this morning’s service, though I’m sure he’ll be arriving soon enough…”

“Ask him, then,” the prince grinned. “See if he can work hope in for you.”

The young man turned a warm smile on him, drawing a breath to speak -- but before he could, a half dozen people made their way into the common room, including a man Chrom recognized as the Grimleal hierophant, who gave him a suspicious look before focusing his attention on Robin. And despite his curiosity (not to mention his intention to back the young sovereign up in his request), the prince found himself swiftly pushed out into the hall -- along with Henry, much to his surprise.

“...shouldn’t you still be in there?” he ventured.

“Eh, it’s boring,” the dark mage shrugged. “I don’t gotta do anything ‘til later, anyway. But Robin asked me to take you back downstairs.”

...he actually hadn’t thought of how he’d find his way back. “Lead the way, then,” Chrom agreed, following along while Henry wandered through several more unfamiliar passages and more staircases than the prince remembered taking, chattering all the while; eventually he recognized a few familiar rooms -- the library and dining room chief among them -- but he let the dark mage continue on regardless, enjoying the steady stream of one-sided magic-based conversation that he could barely parse, though he was pretty sure he heard something about ‘wings made of fire,’ which in theory sounded incredible (though even Chrom could see how it would be a practical nightmare).

With a small, triumphant fanfare, Henry spread his arms and spun to face the prince. “Here we are!” he giggled. “Home sweet home-away-from-home.”

“Thanks, Henry,” Chrom chuckled, patting his shoulder. “...hey, uh...do you think we’d be allowed to watch the Sunset Sermon this evening? And Robin’s speech?”

The dark mage tilted his head. “Huh. I dunno -- we’ve never had anybody from Ylisse around to try! I guess you could if you wanted. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Arguably, he could think of any number of terrible things, starting with being cursed and ending with whatever Tharja had planned to do with him if he’d set foot in Robin’s room while the young man changed. But rationally, he didn’t see any of those being likely. “...we’re told to leave?” he suggested. 

“Prob’ly,” Henry shrugged. “But, hey! If you really wanna come, I can always tell Robin, and he can let everybody know to expect you.”

“Would you mind?”

“Of course not!” the mage grinned. 

“If you could, then--”

“Ah, I thought I heard you here, Milord!”

It took every ounce of self-control the prince could muster to avoid groaning when Frederick poked his head out into the hall. “I was just finishing up with Henry,” he muttered. 

“Please be swift, we’ve been waiting on you to start,” the great knight chided. 

Snickering into his sleeve, the dark mage started walking backwards down the hall. “You know how to get to the courtyard, right? It starts right before the sun goes down all the way.”

“I’ll be there,” Chrom promised. And then he steeled his nerve and stepped inside.

\-----

To Frederick’s credit, the celebration he put together wasn’t as unbearable as Chrom had feared. At least they weren’t forced to suffer through that damned re-enactment of Naga’s blessing again. Instead there were a few recitations from the more devout among them, prayers for their Divine’s grace and favor, a retelling of the First Exalt’s pact...and then all eyes turned to him. 

He didn’t even know where to begin. Not after everything he’d heard today. Not after everything he’d learned about Plegia since crossing the border. Words had never come easy to him, but now they swirled in a chaos of half-formed thoughts and feelings he knew he’d only ever struggle to express. But he took a breath regardless, and hoped he could find the right thing to say even as he took to his feet and began to speak.

“What are we celebrating today?”

They remained silent, watching him intently; he looked back at them, waiting for…he wasn’t sure what. But eventually he saw Sumia raise her hand shyly, twisting a lock of hair around her finger when he nodded to her. “Naga’s blessing?”

“At its heart, that’s what today is about,” he nodded, watching her smile in obvious relief (and even Frederick seemed impressed by the unusual approach). “What blessings did She give us?”

“The halidom,” the great knight offered. “A land of beauty and bounty both.”

“Her blood pact with the First Exalt,” one of his advisors added. “Proof of Her favor and Her Champion’s worth in ruling the halidom.”

A bitter ache twisted in his chest. “What else?”

“The Holy Fang and the Fire Emblem,” one of the guardsmen said, “to protect Her People from harm.”

His hand settled on Falchion, fingers tense and trembling. “And the first purpose that Fang was put to?”

There was no hesitation in the response. “Destroying the Fell Dragon before its evil could spread.”

Chrom tightened his grip on his sword hilt. “An act that robbed Plegia of their Divine, and began a thousand years of conflict.”

A heavy silence fell over them all. But the prince continued, fighting to keep his voice steady when the rest of him couldn’t seem to stop shaking. “I’ve been trying to do what I know Emmeryn would have, if she’d been able to come. I’ve spoken with the people here, tried to listen and _learn..._ and it’s made me question things I’ve taken for granted all my life. Grima wasn’t evil -- not in the eyes of his worshippers: he was their protector, but a thousand years ago my ancestor and our Divine slaughtered him...and for what? We swear every year that it was because he was evil, that he was going to rain death and destruction down on our people -- but hundreds of years had passed since he first arrived in Plegia, enough for him to establish a loyal human following not so different from Naga’s own. ...what if...what if we’re wrong? What if he wasn’t evil at all, but treated that way to justify his death -- the same way my father justified his war?”

No one moved. As far as Chrom could tell, he was the only one still breathing, because he could hear it rasping in the still air. “I don’t know the truth. I wasn’t there a thousand years ago. I can’t know anything about what happened with any certainty. But I know this: in Ylisse, we celebrate the longest day as a festive occasion: the birth of our nation, the start of peace and prosperity for our people, founded on the death of evil; but in Plegia, it’s a day of mourning: the beginning of a thousand years of turmoil and strife, and the loss of any peace because their guardian was slain by an outside force. So what are we really celebrating on the Day of Light? How many of our blessings came at the expense of something vital for another?”

Swallowing hard, the prince lifted his head, squaring his shoulders and looking out over the people gathered before him. “Ylisse is blessed. It’s undeniable. We have fertile land, abundant game, bountiful resources. Even in lean years, the halidom still thrives. We need to take our blessings and share them: our neighbors have suffered in the thousand years since Ylisse’s founding, but we have a chance to change things for the better, to bring _real peace_ \-- not just to the halidom, but to the _continent,_ by opening our eyes and ears to what the people here are trying to share with us. Even today -- _especially_ today, when their pain is made most plain -- they’ve welcomed us to take part. We need to stop shutting them out and hiding ourselves away, celebrating the very thing that those around us mourn. We need to hear them. We need to listen. Or else nothing is ever going to change.”

Chrom blew out a weak sigh, prising his fingers off Falchion’s hilt. “Their Sunset Sermon will begin shortly. I plan to attend. I won’t force anyone else to join me, but you’re welcome to come.” And without a backward glance, he left the common room, turning down the hall and marching purposefully toward the castle gates. 

Sully and Sumia caught up with him before he made it halfway down the hall. “Damn,” the cavalier mused, “that was probably the best speech I’ve heard on a Day of Light in _years._ ”

“I doubt Frederick’s going to agree with you,” he muttered, listening to the great knight’s clanking armor charging up the corridor in pursuit. But when he turned the corner, he saw Stahl and Miriel a pace behind Sully and Sumia, blocking Frederick from easily forcing his way through...and with a grateful nod, he increased his pace, weaving through the maze of passages and exiting the palace at just short of a jog.

Most of the light had already left the sky by the time they stepped outside, and the path to the courtyard at the foot of the mesa was packed with onlookers. But they made their way down all the same, one step at a time...and much to his surprise, the prince caught a glimpse of Tharja at the edge of the courtyard, scanning the assembly with minimal interest. “H-hey,” he called, weaving his way over to her (and realizing, after another moment, that she’d also changed into her more usual black and gold, though her outfit seemed much more elaborate than usual). “What’s going on? I figured you’d be with Robin…”

“He asked me to escort you to the front,” she huffed, folding her arms over her chest in exasperation. “I wasn’t expecting so _many_ of you, though. Please try to stay together.”

As she turned and started through the crowd, he glanced back to see most _everyone_ from the delegation behind him, struggling through the crowd in pursuit of their prince. And that sight alone gave him hope that maybe he could do this -- perhaps not as well as Emmeryn, but well all the same. 

He nearly lost Tharja during that moment spent in thought; lucky for him, she’d stayed close, and for all her apparent impatience she worked her way through slowly enough for them to keep pace until, at last, they arrived at a clear space at the very front of the stone platform. “This is a great spot,” Chrom mused, watching the rest of the Ylissean party pour in behind them. “Thanks for finding it for us.”

“I didn’t,” Tharja replied curtly. “Robin had it set aside when you asked to attend.”

He hadn’t expected the sovereign to go so far out of his way for something the prince hadn’t even been able to guarantee...but before he could say more, or even ask her to pass on his gratitude, a hush fell over the crowd, and he instinctively fell silent as he turned his attention to the stage. A tall, gaunt figure strode to the center, dark robes flowing around him -- and the last rays of sunlight peeking through the skull’s great teeth illuminated the hierophant’s solemn face. 

For a moment, he heard nothing at all, as if the entire assembly held their breath...and he realized, after a moment, that he was, too, hanging on the silent anticipation of the crowd all around them. 

“People of Plegia,” the man said, his voice echoing out over the sea of faces, “we have gathered here today to mourn the loss of our guardian and protector, our Fell Divine Grima, whose life was stolen by the cruel fang of Naga taken up by the hands of man. One thousand years ago, on this the longest day, He flew to meet Naga and her following, knowing that her powers had peaked and that His Own could not be weaker -- but He met them all the same, and with that act He saw the lives of His People spared the sword that would have been brought down upon their necks for the crime of following the Divine of their own choosing. Yet the pain of that loss remains with us even now, and will forevermore, as immutable as the skull that keeps sightless watch over His People to this day.”

The man’s arm swept toward the bones towering over them, and a ripple of movement passed through the assembly as the Plegians touched their faces and chests in a ritual gesture. “So, too, have we gathered to mourn the lives of our sisters and brothers, mothers and fathers, daughters and sons, whose lives were ended before their time as war spilled across our borders. From those brave souls who fought alongside Grima in His final battle, and who were first to join Him in the days that followed; to those innocents who were slain in the weeks after for refusing to renounce their faith in their Divine Protector; from the soldiers who fought unwaveringly to defend their land and their loved ones from the foreign armies intent on cutting out Plegia’s very heart; to those unable to escape the warpath trod in blood across our sands. Though they have found safety within Grima’s Embrace, we grieve their loss all the same, and the pain resounds on this day that marked the beginning of our trials.”

Another silent gesture from the crowd. The light was fading fast now, and with the torches around the courtyard still unlit Chrom had to squint to make out the hierophant’s figure among the darkening shadows. “They have been many,” the man continued, and though his voice quieted it still cut loud through the silence. “Since the loss of our Divine we have endured drought and famine, pestilence and cataclysm, bloodshed enough to make the stones run red. And any one of them could have spelled our end, seen us fail and fall to be buried and forgotten in the sands. But we have survived every hardship, held fast in the face of persecution and warfare, fought on for what we hold dear and lived in spite of every blade brought to bear against us. Whathas kept us alive through these last thousand years? Whathas allowed us to survive every horror wrought upon us?”

The prince felt his heart leap, knowing what he would say even before the man spoke the word. “ _Hope. Hope_ has kept us from faltering, _hope_ that our Divine would grace us once more and bring back the peace His Fall stole away. And in our hour of greatest need, when our destruction was at hand and we feared that all would soon be lost...our hope was at last rewarded with the return of Grima’s Heart.”

The final sliver of sunlight vanished beneath the horizon.

And in its place, violet flames burst forth, unfurling into six great wings. 

He could sense the Ylisseans clustering tight around him, tense and ready to fight or flee at the first sign of trouble; but all around them the Plegians had burst into song -- not the dirges he’d heard echoing through the city streets during his morning with Robin, but something _joyful,_ rising toward the star-strewn sky above. The flames swept out across the stage, setting the unlit torches along each edge ablaze...and as the hierophant moved aside and swept into a low bow, another shadow rose at the back of the platform; it paced toward the assembly, the firelight gleaming off the curved gold horns framing its face…

“We are glad to be here with you, Our People, Our Faithful, Our Friends.”

For a moment, the voice didn’t even register as familiar. But when the figure reached the heart of the platform, the torchlight finally pushed back the cloak of darkness, illuminating Robin’s smile. For once his hair was neatly combed and styled, and eye patterns reminiscent of the Mark of the Grimleal had been painted down his cheeks since Chrom left him...but seeing the young man in his black and violet robes, adorned in gold jewelry and shining stones, the prince found it hard to breathe, let alone think of anything beyond the stunning figure he cut upon the dais. 

“Hope is a garden in the desert,” the young sovereign said, his gentle voice carrying out into the night. “It requires effort and care to thrive. In the best of times, it lifts our spirits and lets us dream of the future; in the worst of times, it shelters us and gives us heart to carry on through hardship. But even when we abandon it, leave it to fade and wither...so long as we live, it is never truly lost, for the seeds of it ever remain in our hearts, ready to grow and bloom again when next we need them. We are honored by the hope you have kept so long, and We endeavor always to reward that which you have tended so well.”

His gaze drifted across the crowd...and maybe it was his imagination, but the prince swore Robin paused when he looked to the front where the Ylisseans stood, the paint at the corners of his eyes crinkling in an invisible smile. “It is to that end that We have extended an open hand in friendship to our neighbors to the east. We hope that the conflict that began with Our Fall one thousand years ago might be put at last to rest with Our return, and that We may know an age of true peace with Our Heart to guide. Keep hope, and know that We will ever strive to aid you, to guard you, to--”

A small, round shape dropped from the darkness above, striking the platform behind Robin with a sharp crack. 

The young man whirled, wind swirling around him and lifting the object back toward the sky--

The explosion tore across the stage, leaving Chrom deaf and momentarily blinded by the black smoke choking the air. As it cleared and the cries and screams of panic began seeping through the ringing in his ears, he scanned the stage, trying to make any sense of the chaos…

A dark shape lay sprawled near the edge of the dais: tattered black and violet robes and a mess of soot-darkened white hair -- and all other thoughts evaporated. 

_“Robin!!”_

***

Robin’s mind came slowly back into focus through the haze of pain. The ringing in his ears had yet to abate, his vision swam when he dared to open his eyes (a choice he regretted, and did not intend to repeat), and the piercing ache in his head and chest were likely to warrant attention…

“Robin? Robin! Can you hear me?”

Vaguely. The voice sounded muddled and distant, but he recognized it all the same; mustering all the strength he could find, he pushed himself up, barely managing to get even his elbows beneath him -- but a strong arm wrapped around him, helping him up to his knees before drawing him in close. “Hey. Robin? Are you with me?”

“...Chrom?” he mumbled, peering up through the torchlight. The prince holding him upright looked relieved to hear him speak, some of the tension in his expression unraveling into a worried smile. “What…?”

“I don’t know,” he muttered -- and it was only when Chrom shifted that Robin realized he had drawn his sword, holding it high and ready to move at the first sign of further danger. “I don’t know, I saw something fall, and then there was a blast…”

That sounded familiar. Shifting to lean against the prince’s chest, he reached a shaking hand into his robes, pulling his Thunder tome free and letting it fall open against his arm. “Can you see?”

“My eyes are still stinging a little from the smoke, but I can make out enough,” he replied, shifting his sword arm to allow Robin a clear shot. Summoning up the spell he knew by heart, he let the bolt fly high into the air, searching for any shadows shivering away from the light…

“Nothing. It’s clear.”

Of course. What killer worth their coin would remain at the scene?

“Think you can stand?” the prince asked.

“I’ve no idea,” he winced, pressing a hand to his side and trying again to take stock of his surroundings. As best he could tell, the damage was limited to the back of the platform, well away from the assembled crowd; he, meanwhile, had not been quite so lucky, judging by the tattered state of his ceremonial robes and the pits and dents in the ornaments...and given that he could move his head freely, he’d lost the headdress when the force threw him to the ground. Gods only knew where it might be now…

“Here. Come on, let’s try and get you up.” Chrom set his sword aside, drawing Robin’s arm across his shoulders and easing the both of them to their feet; he wavered for a moment, even with the prince holding him steady...but after another he found his balance, and managed to keep himself upright long enough for Chrom to reclaim his weapon, pointedly keeping it between the sovereign and the cliffs from whence the attack had so likely come. 

“Robin!!” 

The prince twitched, his sword swinging toward the voice...but he relaxed in the next instant, letting it fall again as Henry flung himself across the platform. “Are you okay!? What happened, I just saw a big _boom_ and…”

“I don’t know,” Robin said again, wishing he had a better answer, or at least a different way of saying it that could get them moving in the right direction. But the thoughts were still hazy, his mind muddled from the ache in his skull and the ringing in his ears, and he couldn’t piece the ideas together well enough to fit words to them…

“Arrest him.”

His head came up fast enough that it left his vision swimming; only the dark mage clinging to his arm kept him upright at all when Mustafa pulled Chrom away. “W-what? No,” he protested, looking to the hierophant storming across the platform. “You can’t do that, y...you have no grounds--”

“An attempt was made on your life,” the man hissed, fear and fury twisting in his voice. “We will see this punished as befits the crime--”

“You have no _proof,_ ” Robin pleaded. 

“I saw him standing over you with the very blade that began our suffering one thousand years ago,” the hierophant snarled, gesturing viciously at the prince (who wisely, if far too belatedly, sheathed the blade at his side).

“I swear, I had no part in this,” Chrom insisted...but he did not fight when the berserker lay a hand on his shoulder, turning him toward the back of the stage. “Take care of him, Henry,” he called, his voice straining over the growing roar of the crowd behind them. 

The sovereign turned, looking out over the shadowed sea of faces. Too many voices. Too many shouts. But he did not need to parse them all to know what they cried for. 

Punishment.

Suffering.

Retribution.

His heart ached, sharper than the pain still pounding in his skull. It swelled in his breast, strangling the breath from his lungs, despair crushing down upon his shoulders…

But he would not -- _could_ not -- abandon hope. 

_**“THIS IS NOT THE WAY!!!”** _

Silence fell across the courtyard, the cliff tops, stretching out into the city and the desert far beyond. Pulling free of Henry’s grip, Robin stepped forward, struggling for every breath but fighting to remain steady all the same. “We _cannot_ condemn the Ylisseans on nothing but suspicion! We _cannot_ detain them simply because we _imagine_ they are responsible! We _cannot imprison an innocent man simply for the history of his people._ You would accuse Prince Chrom of having a hand in this attack for the sole fact that he is Naga’s Chosen, Bearer of her Brand...yet he was first to come to Our aid, first to help Us up, first to guard Us with the arms he had at hand.”

A faint smile flickered across his lips. “Could you have imagined it before this night? Naga’s Branded, lifting her fang to protect Grima’s Heart when once it was stained with His Blood?”

He swallowed, fighting for another breath. “ _This_ is the peace We have hoped for! _This_ is why We called for them to come, _this_ is what We hoped to forge! And _We_ _will not stand by_ and allow one hateful act by unknown hands to destroy what We have tended. To accuse without proof, to judge based on suspicion and the belief that _it must be so for he is from Ylisse..._ this is what _We_ have suffered at the hands of foreign soldiers, marching across our borders and decrying us as savages and heathens. We _cannot_ stoop to this without becoming all that we swear to hate.”

Silence. But for the sound of his own breath and the thunder of his pulse, Robin could hear nothing at all. “We will find the truth, and We will see that justice is done. But do not let your fear and anger raze the hopes you have so long nurtured,” he pleaded. 

He felt the weight of their gazes on him as he turned toward the back of the stage. “Robin?” Henry whimpered. 

“Stay with me,” he breathed. “I don’t know if I can make it on my own.”

The dark mage fell into step beside him, his long cloak and Robin’s tattered robes obscuring their shapes while they retreated; to his credit, Henry did not try to rush even when Robin entrusted the better part of his balance to the mage’s care, pressing a hand to his side and feeling the hot pulse of blood through the ragged fabric with every deliberate step. He gave his focus over to the ceremonial gate, counting the paces until they passed through to keep his mind on the task at hand...and only once they were beyond it and well out of sight did he allow himself to crumple, sagging against the cool stone passage while Henry fluttered anxiously beside him. 

“Find Tharja,” he mumbled. “Send her he-ere. Warn my mothe-er we’ll be coming. ...and g-get my father.”

Nodding frantically, the dark mage launched himself down the corridor...and in the silence, Robin prayed that his words would be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now featuring _fanart!!_
> 
>   
>  I am absolutely _floored_ by this **gorgeous** comic page by [MayMaiArt](https://twitter.com/maymaiart)! Go check them out, their art is all amazing!


	5. Recovering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the attack on the Day of Remembrance, Chrom sees first-hand the damage done, and turns his attention to helping Robin's recovery along as best he can -- even if that means pulling the sovereign away from his self-prescribed work. But ghosts of the last war stir in the wake of the would-be assassination, and the culprits remain at large...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this may set an all-time single-chapter high for me (or if it doesn't, it comes close -- a whopping 14k words in one chapter is a _lot_ ). 
> 
> Note that there are non-descriptive depictions of blood and injury in the first section, so take care if you're sensitive to that sort of subject matter. Once again, dashes (-) indicate a change of scene while asterisks (*) represent a change of perspective. Thanks again for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

Chrom had been expecting a dungeon when the hierophant ordered his arrest. In all likelihood, that’s what the man had intended at the outset -- but Robin’s command brought everything to a halt, including the prince; though the sovereign’s voice quieted as he spoke, his words still rang clear over the courtyard, leaving Chrom’s heart lodged in his throat by the time Mustafa gently touched his shoulder and guided him back to the castle...but rather than taking him to some unfamiliar cell, the berserker brought him to the meeting room where he and Robin had spent so many of their days. Confused, he’d still moved inside, casting a questioning look over his shoulder toward the two men standing beyond the threshold.

“ _Stay here,_ ” the hierophant ordered. 

The doors closed. And though Chrom had never seen a bar to keep anyone in or out, he did not dare to test it. Not when so much likely depend on his obedience. 

So he paced the length of the room a few dozen times. And then he circled the table about a hundred more. On occasion he paused by the door to listen, praying he might hear something that would tell him what was going on outside...but compared to the chaos and uproar in the courtyard, the castle was utterly still. Silent as the crypt, as the saying went in Ylisse. 

The phrasing chilled him to the bone. 

He went back to pacing the room, feeling like a wolf turning endlessly about in a cage. Where was Robin? He’d been dazed and unsteady when Chrom helped him up, but something about his words and his speech when he addressed the crowd had seemed...off: too open, too earnest for the composure he maintained in his role as sovereign, as though the mask had slipped to reveal a glimpse of the shaken young man beneath. Had he hit his head when the blast threw him? Had a healer seen to him? Was he resting? Or were the Ylisseans up in arms because their prince had been taken -- gods, this was already a disaster, but how much worse could it possibly _get…_

The door opened. 

Chrom’s attention snapped to the hierophant standing beneath the arch, still in the same elaborate robes he’d worn when he left the prince in his makeshift prison -- though, maybe it was just his imagination, but they looked more disheveled than they’d been before. “How’s Robin?” he asked, wondering if he sounded as desperate as he felt.

“Come with me,” the man sighed, turning on his heel and disappearing from view. 

That did nothing to help his panic. 

Bolting across the room, he hooked his hand on the doorframe to turn without slowing down, nearly passing the hierophant in his haste to catch up. “What’s wrong?” he tried again. “Is he going to be alright? Did Frederick kick up a fuss about this -- I swear, if you just give me a chance to talk to him I can get this sorted out, but I -- please, is Robin alright?”

No answer. 

A sick sense of dread lodged in the back of his throat, choking out any further questions. Following in the man’s wake, he tried to keep his thoughts from straying to what awaited him...and when that failed, he prayed instead that it was not as dire as he feared--

The hierophant stopped, jarring Chrom out of his thoughts. Looking up, he saw the Grimleal emblem woven into the curtains of the room beside them -- the same ones he’d seen earlier, when Robin brought him along to prepare for his speech. Gods, if he was here, did that mean…

The man lifted one of the drapes and stood aside; the prince did not hesitate, ducking through with frayed nerves drawn taut enough to break--

“Y-you’re alright.”

Chrom’s knees very nearly buckled when Robin’s voice called out to him, tense and tired but very clearly _alive._ Truthfully, though, he looked little better than he sounded: his soot-darkened hair seemed somehow more disheveled than usual, his face ashen and the painted eyes smeared and streaked from sweat...and as his relief gave way, he realized that the young man was sitting up only by virtue of his retainers, one on each side to prop him up while a white-haired woman examined his bared and bloody chest.

“Oh, gods.”

Somehow, those choked words made Robin’s eyes crinkle. “It’s not as ba-ad as it looks?”

“You hush,” the woman muttered. “Henry, I need the light a little higher,” she ordered, discarding a blood-soaked cloth in a basin of water and leaning in close while the dark mage lifted the flame in his palm.

“Are you satisfied?” 

For a moment, Chrom had forgotten that the hierophant was there at all; he jumped, whirling to face the man and struggling to find words...only to realize that he wasn’t looking at the prince, but at the sovereign. 

“I’m satisfied he’s not i-in a prison cell, yes,” Robin hissed. “I’d like to keep it tha-at way.”

“I have already assured you, and _reassured_ you, _repeatedly,_ that I have no such intention,” the hierophant sighed.

“Be patient with him, Validar, concussions are hardly kind,” the woman murmured, glancing up at Chrom with a worn smile. “I take it you’re the foreign prince at the heart of tonight’s stir?”

“Y-yes,” he nodded, remembering only after another awkward moment to bow. “Prince Chrom. Of House Ylisse. But just Chrom is fine.”

“Well, Chrom,” she chuckled, “perhaps you’d be willing to do me a sizable favor? I need Tharja’s and Henry’s hands if I’m going to set Robin on the mend: could you help keep him steady for me?”

“ _Maman_ ,” Robin whimpered.

“ _Wren,_ ” the hierophant warned in the same instant. 

“...Wren?” the prince repeated, kneeling behind Robin while Henry eased out from under the young man’s arm. “Like the bird?”

“Exactly like the bird,” she smiled, directing the dark mage over to her side and gesturing for Tharja to follow suit. “It’s a bit of a family tradition. Robin doesn’t mind, though, do you, Little Bird?”

It took Chrom another few seconds to puzzle through the implications of those words. But it wasn’t until he noticed the odd array of metal instruments beside her that he managed to fit the pieces together: for all that Robin had claimed white hair was not uncommon, this was only the third person he’d met who had it, and he’d mentioned both his parents’ trades mere hours ago… “Are. Are you Robin’s mother?”

She nodded, her smile seeming just a little brighter than it had when he’d arrived. “It’s an honor to finally meet you, though the circumstances are less than desirable. I’ve heard a great deal about you and your adventures in the city--”

“What adventures in the city?” the hierophant interrupted.

“You didn’t _really_ think they were lost in the library, did you?” she scoffed. 

“I’m not a fool, I know well enough about his warp points. I regret teaching you that spell,” he added in an undertone, any venom in his voice undercut by the concern in his eyes. “But he _told_ you about them? He never spoke of it with me...”

“Of course not, he’d get in _trouble_ if he told you.”

As Robin’s weight sagged against the prince’s shoulder, Chrom slipped an arm around his chest to hold him up, his free hand folding around the young man’s fingers. “I apologize for dragging you into this,” Robin mumbled. 

“You’re only apologizing because you don’t have any food for me to steal, aren’t you?” the prince joked, feeling the tension in his chest ease only when the young man’s reedy laugh reached his ears. “I’m just glad to see you…” He fumbled for a moment over the words -- the bloody mess around them seemed far from ‘alright,’ and ‘alive’ felt too heavy to dare speaking aloud…

Wren’s voice cut through his contemplation. “Are you comfortable?” Looking down at Robin, he saw the young man’s head list forward in what he hoped was a nod...but when he looked up again, he saw her watching him expectantly. “Yes, you, too,” she insisted. “You have the hardest job here, so I suggest you settle in as best you can.”

“Wait. What’s my job?” the prince asked, holding Robin just a bit tighter. 

“Keeping him still while I work,” she replied. 

Before he could ask for a better explanation, the woman lifted a soaked cloth from the basin beside her, balling it loosely in her hands and pressing it to her son’s breast above the ragged wound, sending water rushing down to wash away the blood -- and making Robin wince, pressing back into Chrom’s chest. “Can’t you give him something for the pain?” he asked. 

“I’ve already given him as much as I dare for the state he’s in,” she murmured, motioning to Henry and Tharja as she picked up her instruments and set to work, her hands moving faster than he could follow; for all her speed, though, Robin clearly _felt_ it all, his hand clutching the prince’s fingers with shocking strength for someone who couldn’t hold himself upright. It was all Chrom could do to keep him _steady,_ let alone _still,_ and every whimper that snared in the young man’s throat just made him hold on that much tighter, desperate to impart some small comfort…

“How bad is it?” the hierophant asked, pacing behind the medic when she finally sat back. 

“I haven’t seen a wound like this since the war ended,” she muttered. 

“Gods, Maman, don’t say that,” Robin mumbled, sagging into the prince’s embrace as his pain and tension unwound. 

Validar paused. “A blast bomb?” 

She nodded, offering up a shallow plate for his inspection. “Looks to be. This is what I’m pulling out, and most of it I can’t even see without Tharja’s direction.”

The man did not take it. But Chrom saw the way his eyes narrowed, heard the breath hiss through his nose before he resumed his pacing. “Will you be able to treat it?”

“The trouble isn’t so much my _treating_ it as the shock that goes with it,” she explained, flexing her trembling hands a few times. “But yes, I can treat it, I just need another minute--”

“What’s a blast bomb?”

The medic and the hierophant both looked toward him, and Chrom wished he could sink into the floor to escape their disbelieving stares. “Do you know nothing of what your father did?” Validar demanded. 

“He was _five,_ ” Robin protested weakly. “No older than I was at the war’s end. And his Exalted sister has no taste for warfare. Why would he know?”

The hierophant sighed, drumming his fingers on the gold band at his wrist. “They are an alchemical weapon that the halidom’s forces utilized through much of the last war, comprised of an explosive powder within a ceramic shell with a wick at the seal; once lit, the flame burns through the cord and eventually lights the mixture, causing a powerful blast. In the final years of the war, we began to suspect they had added a second outer shell, filling the space between with shards of iron to cause greater damage to anyone caught in range…”

The sovereign’s fingers tightened on Chrom’s shaking hand. “I didn’t,” the prince insisted. “I didn’t, I _wouldn’t,_ I _swear…_ ”

“I know,” Robin murmured. 

“But your soldiers brought those arms to bear against us,” Validar said, the sharp click of his nails on the metal bracelet accenting his words. “If they did so again--”

“You don’t know that,” the sovereign repeated, his words slow and somewhat slurred; the prince squeezed his fingers, feeling Robin return the pressure in weaker kind before leaning his head into Chrom’s shoulder. “You don’tknow that,” he repeated, his voice sounding at least a little clearer. “We know how they’re made. Someone else could have done it.”

“Who else would _dare!?”_ the man roared. 

“I told you we were attacked at the first waypoint,” Robin replied calmly. “People fearful of the Ylisseans. And Valm’s starmakers use a similar powder. This could have been anything. Perhaps a ploy to frame our guests. Or even _intended_ for them, but poorly aimed.” 

The hierophant blew out another hissing sigh, resuming his pacing behind Robin’s mother. “Then we investigate.”

“Quietly,” the young man added. 

“Interrogate any and all who might have seen--”

“Ask,” Robin corrected. 

“You can have your say in how this is handled once you’re on the mend,” Validar snapped.

“By the time I’m on the mend you’ll have started doing what you think is necessary,” the sovereign pointed out. “This is my only chance to _have_ a say.”

“And how can you claim to know what is or is not _necessary?_ ” the hierophant demanded. “ _My son nearly died this night._ When I find whoever did this, I pray that Grima will show them mercy, for _I will not!_ ”

“And that is why I must,” Robin murmured, lifting his right hand as high as he could manage. “Grima’s Heart still beats. See?”

Folding the young man’s fingers between his own, Validar closed his eyes, bowing his head as he knelt by Robin’s side. “...why must you always be so reasonable.”

“I had an excellent teacher,” the young sovereign smiled. “‘Anger burns through all it touches; the heart that kindles it must guard the flame with care, or risk destroying what it loves.’”

“And here I thought you only paid attention to your mother’s lessons in mischief,” he chuckled. 

As he rose from his place and retreated across the room, Chrom couldn’t help but stare. “You didn’t tell me that the _hierophant_ is your father _,”_ he hissed. 

“I said he holds rank with the Grimleal,” Robin mumbled. 

“The resemblance is only there if you know what to look for,” Wren winked. “He certainly didn’t get his height from me, after all. Easy, now, Little Bird, once more...”

Chrom felt Robin tense and braced him again while Wren resumed her work, holding tight to his fingers when the young man’s trembling grip began to fail. But then she relaxed, however slightly, her clipped commands to Henry and Tharja becoming murmured thanks and reassurances while she set aside her tools, dousing the wound again to clean it before padding and wrapping it with linens. “There,” she breathed. “It’s finished now, Little Bird, it’s all over and done…”

Robin whimpered, shifting weakly against Chrom and seeming intent on sitting up...only to sink back before he made it more than a few inches. “I don’t suppose I could ask another favor of you?” Wren murmured. “I need to mix something to ease the pain and help him sleep. Could you get him to bed?”

The prince nodded without hesitation, shifting to kneel beside the young man. His breath caught when Chrom lifted him up, and for just a moment he froze, terrified of hurting him more...but when Robin’s next breath shivered out, he settled the unnervingly slight weight in his arms, picking his way through the common area and ducking through the arch leading into the sovereign’s room. 

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, exactly. Maybe something as elaborate as his family’s living space -- perhaps something even _more_ ornamented, given his status...but the room before him was anything but. Books and scrolls covered every surface in sight, piled two and three high or threatening to tumble from where they’d been left half-hanging over the edge of an end table; what few decorations he could spot were small and shining, faceted stones and glassy baubles arranged to keep his scrolls contained. Even the _bed_ was half-covered in open texts -- though, if nothing else, that made it abundantly clear where he preferred to sleep. Easing Robin down into the rumpled bedclothes...Chrom paused, folding his fingers around the young man’s hand. “Are you still with me?” he asked. 

Robin made a vague sound, cracking open one eye. “For the moment.”

“You should return to your comrades.”

The hierophant’s voice caught him entirely by surprise. Jumping back, he whirled to face the man, watching him cross the room and take a seat on the edge of the bed. “They are sure to be worried about you, and we could do without a diplomatic crisis on top of everything else,” he continued, gently wiping the ruined paint from his son’s cheeks with a damp cloth. 

For a while, he’d forgotten entirely about that. But as much sense as it made to return...the greater part of him irrationally wanted to stay. 

As Validar cleaned the last lingering streaks and smudges from Robin’s face, Wren ducked inside with a steaming cup in hand; the hierophant helped his son to sit up enough to drink (and judging from the way he winced, Chrom could only assume the taste was as vile as any of the medicines he’d had forced on him as a child)...but as he sank back, the young man’s brow furrowed. “What will we say happened?” 

“There was a blast and you were hurt,” Wren replied instantly. 

“There was a blast but you escaped unscathed,” Validar countered. 

“ _Look_ at him!” his wife demanded. “How in Grima’s name do you call that _unscathed?”_

“I don’t,” the hierophant replied. “But we need to say it all the same.”

“They were willing -- _eager --_ to see Chrom suffer for the _suspicion_ that Ylisse might have been involved,” Robin mumbled. 

“If we were to make it known that he was injured this severely, I doubt _any_ words could change their minds,” Validar agreed. “Better to keep it secret.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “And what of whoever did this?”

“We investigate. ...quietly,” the man sighed, earning a slight nod from Robin. “Ask any and all who might have been on guard, or seen something strange.”

“Is there anything I can do?” 

The medic and the hierophant both looked up, seeming surprised to find Chrom still there. “Go back to your companions,” Validar repeated sternly. 

“No, I mean...can I help? I could ask in my group, see if anyone saw something, or knows something, or…” He stopped, swallowing back the choking dread as best he could. “If it was someone from Ylisse who did this -- someone I brought -- I want to...I _have_ to know.” Silence settled over the room, heavy enough that he couldn’t seem to draw a breath…

But after a moment, the hierophant rose, tucking his hands into his sleeves. “Let us begin with an investigation of the scene and surroundings,” he sighed. “If we exhaust all other possibilities, then you may make your inquiries. But we will not cast undue suspicion on you or yours.”

Bowing his head, Validar departed without so much as a backward glance. Glancing down at Robin, the prince took a breath, wondering what to say -- or if he _should_ say anything, when the young man looked on the verge of sleep already…

“Were you planning to go?” Wren asked gently. 

“...I should,” Chrom agreed. “My friends are probably worried.” Frederick was probably halfway out of his mind...

“...Robin was worried about you, you know.”

His heart stumbled in his chest. 

“He asked for you,” she continued softly. “Over and over -- though I think that was partly from the blast -- until Validar fetched you. I think it might reassure him if you stayed.”

Chrom felt a prickle of warmth at the tops of his ears. “Could I? Would it be alright -- I don’t want to make anything worse, I-I really should be going back…” Even if, gods knew, he wanted more than _anything_ to stay…

“I can get word to them, if you like,” she assured him. “Write a message and I can see it delivered.”

Maybe it was too good to be true. But he was willing to risk it, if it meant staying. 

Scribbling a hasty message on a piece of parchment, he handed it to Wren and watched her depart with a bob of her head and a soft goodnight. And then he carefully moved the books and scrolls scattered across the far side of the bed, trying his best to avoid disturbing their places in the process before settling in atop the covers, reaching out to curl his fingers around Robin’s.

After _everything_ that had happened -- the shocks, the stress, the fear drawn tighter than a bowstring -- he wondered if he would be able to find sleep at all. But the instant he closed his eyes, the world fell away, leaving only the warm hand twined with his own. And with that comforting reminder, sleep came swift and easy.

***

Robin woke very late, very warm, and in a very great deal of pain. Which, under the circumstances, seemed entirely reasonable, if far from pleasant. But no one had come to rouse him, and whether it was true or not, he chose to take it as not being needed for anything, and snuggled deeper into the bedclothes hoping to at least reclaim a drowse, if not find real sleep…

His pillow breathed. 

For a bewildering moment, he wondered if his mother’s draught had been perhaps a bit _too_ strong, and dazedly lifted his head to ensure that no, in fact, his bed had not become animate while he slept...and instead, he realized that he had been exactly right: his pillow _was_ breathing -- because his head lay on Chrom’s chest. 

His mind dissolved into a chaotic whirl of thoughts and emotions, mostly carried by half-blind panic. The prince of Ylisse was in his bed. _Why_ was the prince of Ylisse in his bed? What had happened? Had he invited this? Had he lost _all_ his senses last night? He should have protested far more to his mother’s subtle provocation, but...had Chrom opposed it? Gods, it was so easy to read things into the prince’s actions and gestures but he needed to stop this before it got any further out of hand…

Chrom stirred, and Robin ducked instinctively...which, of course, only managed to land his head right back on the prince’s chest. And to his dismay, the young man proceeded to turn toward him, his free arm settling gently across Robin’s shoulders. 

“Are you awake?”

He could only nod, distrusting his voice to remain steady should he dare to speak. And Chrom sighed, hugging him just a bit tighter and making his heart race. “Thank the gods,” the prince whispered. 

“...what are you doing here?” Robin ventured, feeling lightheaded and dizzy despite the fact that he was lying still. 

“Oh. Uh. Y-your mother said you were worried. Last night, I mean. And that staying might help. So you could see that I’m not in a prison cell and all, I guess.”

The night before was still very much a haze of sound and color and searing agony in his mind. But those words did ring true, much to his dismay. “I-I’m sorry to have kept you from...”

“None of that,” the prince insisted, his voice gentle but remarkably firm. “I _wanted_ to stay. You’re not allowed to apologize for that.”

“...why?”

The question escaped before he could find the good sense to bite it back. But Chrom only settled closer, his hand running gently over Robin’s shoulders. “I was worried about you, too.” And then, more softly, “...is it alright if I stay longer?”

He was dreaming. That had to be it. It made more sense than anything else -- certainly it offered the most innocent explanation for why the prince of Ylisse was here, in his bed, seeming untroubled and even _content_ with Robin tucked against him. Just a dream...which meant that, eventually, he would wake up, in all likelihood feeling worse than he did now, which was at best a daunting prospect. 

Better to enjoy the dream for now, then.

“I would be glad for it.” Chrom beamed as Robin settled again, hesitantly resting his head against the prince’s shoulder and feeling the young man’s cheek tilt against his hair. It was warm tucked against him, soothing the lingering ache in Robin’s chest and side, and his eyes fluttered closed…

“Can I ask you something?” 

He didn’t open them again. But he did offer a quiet hum of invitation, dreading the inevitable question that would shatter his peace… 

“Your _father_ is the _hierophant?”_

That was the _last_ thing he had expected to hear. He laughed helplessly, which hurt, but he did it anyway, feeling Chrom’s arm tighten around his shoulders to keep him steady. “Why is this funny!? This _whole time_ I’ve been thinking he was just...I don’t know, a religious advisor or something? Gods, I made a _fool_ of myself last night -- he thinks I’m a lackwit now, doesn’t he?”

Reining his mirth in a bit, Robin wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand and tried to catch his breath (though the occasional fit of giggles still broke through). “He’s a very devout man,” he explained. “When we assume our public roles, his duty to me is that of hierophant to sovereign, rather than father to son. He takes great pride in that service.”

“Huh.” Silence settled over them again, easy and comfortable...but now he could feel the questions in the air, flitting like so many moths drawn to a lantern, and as tempting as it was to seek out sleep he did not succumb to the drowsy warmth around him. “...can I ask something else?” Humming again, Robin waited, listening to the steady, even beat of Chrom’s heart…

“What’s the Heart of Grima?”

That, unfortunately, was more the question he had been expecting. Breathing a low, unsteady sigh, he lifted his right hand without bothering to open his eyes. As part of the sunset ceremony, he’d not worn gloves the night before; he knew without needing to look what the prince would see.

Chrom’s fingers curled around his, the ball of his thumb rubbing the back of Robin’s hand. “This is…”

“A Brand,” he murmured. “Not unlike your own, marking you as one of Naga’s Blessed.”

He resigned himself to the inevitable recoiling, the retreat, the accusations -- or worse, the _silence_ once the implications dawned _..._ but though the touch stilled, it did not retreat. “...is it glowing?”

Robin cracked one eye open, glancing first sidelong at the prince, then at the mark. “...it’s a trick of the color.”

“Huh.” Rather than drop his hand, Chrom pulled it down closer, his thumb smoothing over one of the eyes. “...I didn’t know Plegia had Brands -- when you said succession works differently, I figured…”

“To be fair, for the last thousand years we _haven’t_ had them _,_ ” Robin sighed, trying to push himself up...only to feel the prince’s arm tighten around his shoulders and draw him back down (and the pain of his half-hearted attempt was more than enough to deter him from struggling). “It’s...complicated.”

“Is that code for ‘you might not like it?’”

Robin blinked at him. “What?”

“You’ve said that before,” Chrom remarked. “It’s complicated, or it’s hard to explain -- last time it was about the Day of Remembrance. That...wasn’t really all that hard to understand. Hard to hear, maybe,” he muttered, lowering his arm and shifting his grip to hold the sovereign’s marked hand comfortably against his shoulder, “but I didn’t have any trouble grasping it. ...I want to hear this, too.”

“...alright,” Robin breathed, gently squeezing the prince’s fingers. “Then...let me ask you: how did your Brand come to be?”

“Naga gave a drop of Her blood to the First Exalt as proof of their pact,” the prince replied. “The Brand arose from Her blood, and it’s endured in every heir since.”

“So a single drop of blood, granted to one human, birthed the Brand,” Robin said, watching Chrom nod in agreement out of the corner of his eye. “Before He fell, Grima...well, it’s said that He foresaw His end. Perhaps He realized He could not win, or perhaps He was simply preparing for the worst that sadly came to pass...but before the battle, when He urged His People to flee, He took a drop of His Blood and divided it among them all. A single drop of blood, split among many humans: it did not birth a Brand, but it helped them to fight and to flee and to survive.”

The prince nodded again, and Robin closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts. “The Grimleal Order -- those who founded the faith -- believed that...if that tiny fraction of Grima’s Blood could be passed down, then perhaps it could be concentrated through the generations, until it became a single, whole drop of blood within one human. And some among them set about trying to make that real, choosing their marriages with care in hopes that someday, a child would be born bearing the Six-Eyed Brand -- Grima’s Mark, and sign of His Power and Blessing. Over time...it became part of the faith. A hope that someday, that Brand would appear: a sign of Grima’s True Will, marking the bearer as His Chosen: the Heart of Grima reborn into the world.”

“...does that mean you’re Grima?”

The question sounded far more wondering than he would have imagined. “No,” he chuckled. “I don’t believe I am, at least -- just as I don’t believe you’re Naga.”

“...fair enough,” Chrom agreed, tightening his arm around Robin’s shoulders. “Is that why you were a special case?” 

“Special case?” he repeated, tilting his head to see the prince’s face. 

“You said...diviners choose your sovereigns, but the last one died when you were fifteen, so they picked a regent for the interim.”

It surprised him, sometimes, how carefully Chrom had taken to listening. It was almost hard to imagine that the young man beside him and the one that mistook Tharja for Plegia’s sovereign were one and the same (a thought that made him smile to himself, much to the prince’s apparent confusion). “Close: diviners have chosen Plegia’s _rulers_ through the past thousand years. We’ve not had a _sovereign_ since Grima filled our skies.”

He could _see_ Chrom’s mind spinning from one revelation to another, filling gaps in the narrative he’d not known to look for. “That’s why Orton calls you ‘My Fell,’ isn’t it.”

“From ‘Fell Dragon,’ yes. ...I hate when he does that,” Robin muttered. “And he knows it. Which is why he does it.”

“It definitely explains why nobody wanted _me_ calling you that,” the prince laughed, and Robin smiled despite himself at the kindness in it. 

“It is an _excessively_ formal address, even here. Very few people use it, Orton chief among them, but...most all of those who do fought in the last war.” Sobering somewhat, he looked toward the dark stone ceiling, calming his breath as best he could. “You asked if it was a great tragedy, yesterday: it was one of the worst Plegia has suffered in the last thousand years. So many lost their lives, not only to battles but to the razing of village after village as Ylisse’s army marched toward the capital, and at every turn our own forces were pushed back, decimated in battle after battle for the sake of our home. There was...a very real chance that Plegia might have fallen. Been burned to nothing, and lost to the sand...that is the nation I was born into: one at the very brink of ruin. And whether it was fate, destiny, Grima’s Will, or simply chance, I bore the Six-Eyed Brand -- the Heart of Grima, returned to His people in their hour of greatest need. It restored their hopes, and gave them still more to fight for: if the halidom’s army destroyed the capital, the Heart would be lost again. The birth of one child tipped the balance and allowed Plegia’s soldiers to push back a force that far surpassed them. I think that’s why they use it. Why some of them do, at least. Because they remember how things were, and how it all changed after Grima’s Heart was born.”

Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, he tried again to push himself upright, putting aside the pain searing through him...but the arm around his shoulders tightened again, pulling him back down. “I really don’t think you should be getting up yet,” the prince protested. 

“I _have_ to.” He could barely manage the words through the agony tearing into him, but he forced them out regardless. “I’ve been...the-eir hope for peace, for _so lo_ -ong, I have to…”

“Stay down,” Chrom finished for him. “I hope this isn’t offensive -- please don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re going to end up like Grima did if you push yourself too hard: falling because you put everyone else’s needs before taking care of yourself.”

…he’d never considered that. 

He stilled, feeling the arm around his shoulders relax by gradual degrees as his own tension seeped away. And silence settled again, thoughtful rather than the horrified stillness he’d expected all of this to bring on. Closing his eyes again, he basked in the warmth of it all, thanking whatever gods might be watching over him for this pleasant dream he’d been granted…

“...are you hungry?”

Robin blinked, lifting his head just enough to give the prince a puzzled look. “I’m starting to feel like my stomach is eating itself,” Chrom said, “and I just realized that you haven’t eaten since yesterday morning -- I’m assuming you ate something before sunrise, at least -- so...do you want some breakfast? Or lunch? What time is it, anyway?”

Chuckling softly, Robin folded his hands lightly over his bandaged chest. “I could stand to eat, I suppose.”

“Do you mind if I join you?” the prince asked, ruffling his hair sheepishly. “I’m not ready to brave Frederick yet.”

“...you _did_ let them know you were alright, didn’t you?” Robin asked. 

“I sent a note. That counts, right?”

“Did -- did you come straight here after my father let you out?”

“W-well, he told me to follow him--”

“And you haven’t seen _any_ of your comrades since?”

“I’ve been here the whole time.”

“You were -- y-you didn’t leave and then come back?”

“Are you crazy? Frederick would have locked me in my room -- and there aren’t even _doors_ for him to lock! There’s no _way_ I’d have made it back here if I’d told him in person.”

Perhaps he should have been worried. Or upset, or afraid, or any number of other things...but instead, all he felt was laughter bubbling up inside, warmth and mirth briefly beating out the ache in his chest as Chrom joined in. 

***

The fallout from the incident was a great deal quieter than Chrom had been expecting. Though Frederick had refused to let the prince out of the Ylissean suite for nearly a week, or out of his sight for the better part of a fortnight, the diplomatic meetings resumed within a matter of days, and by all accounts the city itself managed to settle back into something like normal in the time it took him to convince the great knight to let him get his own meals under escort. 

And he was certain that Robin was the reason for it all. 

Against all odds (and advice), the sovereign had made a brief public speech to address the chaos that marred the Day of Remembrance, barely two evenings after it transpired. It was the one thing Frederick had, however grudgingly, allowed the prince out of his room for, and only then because Chrom had his own part to play in it: walking side by side, arm in arm, with Grima’s Heart before the Plegian people, an unmistakable display of trust even before Robin voiced his unshakeable faith in the Ylissean prince and his company. Chrom might even have believed that the sovereign had escaped the chaos without injury, as calm and measured as his speech and bearing were through that short appearance...but he had seen the wound with his own eyes, felt him shaking from the strain with every measured step as they walked together, and knew that the young man was only staying upright by virtue of the prince’s support. 

The faith Robin spoke of was real. It was there in the weight he entrusted to Chrom while they stood before the crowd, the subtle way he leaned against the prince for balance when they moved. Which only made Chrom that much more determined to do anything and _everything_ he could to help -- up to and including pushing back against Frederick’s overbearing protection to escort the sovereign back to his rooms following the speech. 

Robin had smiled and thanked him at the arch, holding the prince’s hand all the while. And it had been so hard to let go.

Maybe that was why Chrom had started getting Sully’s help in sneaking out to visit. Not too often, and never for very long, usually in the early morning or late evening after the one near-disaster of a midday attempt where the great knight almost caught them...but it helped. Seeing him, if only for a short while, reassured the prince -- and, apparently, reminded the sovereign that his duties needed to come second to his recovery; more often than not, Chrom arrived to find Robin sprawled in a mound of cushions, poring over some proposal or bit of legislation or request for aid from one of the settlements that dotted Plegia’s vast territory, watching him guiltily try to hide them under the pillows as though he hadn’t been caught red-handed. 

He looked forward to the talks, no matter how brief, and the way Robin invariably relaxed every time Chrom settled into the pile with him to prevent him from working. One day they discussed Plegia as a whole, and Robin unrolled the map he’d tried unsuccessfully to hide when the prince arrived, pointing out major harbor cities on the western coast, little towns on the archipelago of the southwestern peninsula, landmarks like the Dragon’s Table and the Midmire, and the handful of villages scattered through the desert (though Chrom noticed far too many more with names that had been crossed out -- lost in his father’s crusade, he wagered, and the thought made his throat grow tight); another they talked about Robin’s favorite foods, many of which he’d been temporarily barred from during his convalescence, and the prince made a point of saving his dessert to give the young man at their next meeting (which made his eyes go wide and bright with excitement, and for the first time Chrom realized they were the same color as honey when the sun shone through it). 

After nearly three weeks of monitoring the prince like a hawk on the hunt, Frederick _finally_ conceded to letting him go around in Sully’s company. Chrom barely hesitated long enough to thank him before grabbing the cavalier and ducking out into the hall...but three steps on she stopped, suddenly enough that his feet nearly went out from under him. “What’s the matter?” he asked, looking back as she caught his arm to keep him from falling. 

“I’m calling in a favor.”

“What?” In as many years as he’d known her -- and they’d known each other all their lives -- the prince had _never_ been asked to pay her back. “I mean -- I’m not saying no, I’m just. Surprised,” he fumbled, scratching the back of his head and starting to walk down the corridor alongside her. “What do you want from me?”

“I wanna take Sumia on a date.”

“Nice,” he grinned. “Finally moving on from flirting, huh?”

“Well I could’ve done it a lot sooner if somebody hadn’t tried to blow up your buddy,” she muttered. “Any idea yet who it was?”

“None,” he sighed, feeling his spirits flag. He hadn’t heard much in the moments he’d been able to steal with the sovereign...but from what little he’d gathered, the investigation was still moving, spreading further out as their few leads came to nothing. “They’re still looking. That’s all I really know.”

“Hope they rake ‘em over the coals when they find ‘em,” Sully growled, punching her open palm. 

Chrom had a feeling they’d do a lot worse, if Robin’s father got a say. “Anyway. What do you need me to do? Cover for you?” He could put up with Frederick for an evening -- he’d done enough of it lately…

“Actually, I was hopin’ you could ask Mister Head of Plegia if he knows any good places to go. Y’know, any places with music, maybe a play, someplace to get a bite, that sorta thing. He took you around enough, figure he prob’ly knows all the good spots.”

Well, that was true enough. As far as he could tell, Robin knew the whole of the city like the back of his hand…

“...do you mind if I come?”

Sully stopped short, giving him a look that could scour a hole in steel. “Chrom, if you fuck up my date with Sumia I will kick your ass from here to Ylisstol.”

“If I fuck up your night I’ll deserve it,” he agreed. “But I’m not trying to be a third wheel -- how would you feel about a double date?”

Her eyebrows shot up into her wild curls. And then a grin cut its way from ear to ear. “Finally makin’ your move, huh?” she teased, elbowing him in the side. 

“What move?” he protested, feeling the tops of his ears begin to burn. “I just thought...even if I ask him for recommendations, you might have trouble getting around and finding what you’re looking for. So it would make sense if he went with you to show you around, right?” And to get him away from work for a night, since he seemed to have trouble with that on his own. “And it’s not really fair to anybody if he’s taking you around on his own, so...if I come along as his company, it should all balance out. Right?”

“You just keep tellin’ yourself that,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “I’m good with it. Should we go ask him?”

Winding their way up through the halls and stairways, Chrom paused just long enough at the archway with the Grimleal Mark to call a greeting before shouldering his way inside, watching Robin hastily stuff something under the nearest pillow before offering a sheepish smile. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon,” he confessed...but as Sully moved inside, he picked himself up, carefully adjusting the lay of his robes to conceal the bandages. “Ah, hello. Sully, yes?”

“That’s me,” she grinned. “Good to see ya. It’s been a while.”

“Indeed,” he agreed, offering his hand (and wincing, very slightly, when Sully returned the shake with her usual crushing grip). “Is there something I can help you with?”

“We were wondering if you’d like to go out into the city,” Chrom replied. “Sully and Sumia were hoping to see it for themselves, but they haven’t had much luck getting around on their own. Nobody knows their way around better than you, so…”

“Assuming you can get out for a night, we’d love to have you,” Sully chimed in. “An’ Chrom here promised to come along to keep you company.”

The corners of Robin’s eyes crinkled when he looked to the prince. “That does sound nice,” he agreed, “but the hierophant has been quite insistent that I remain in the castle until the investigation is complete--”

“I think a night out sounds _wonderful,”_ Wren interrupted, bustling out from one of the side rooms. “You’ve been cooped up in here working for far too long: a chance to stretch your legs and get some fresh air will do you good.”

Despite how carefully Robin controlled his expression, the utter _betrayal_ in his eyes was almost enough to make Chrom burst out laughing. But the sovereign adopted another careful smile to hide it, folding his left hand carefully over his Brand. “Did you have a particular day or time in mind?”

“Tonight would be an excellent opportunity,” his mother called, bustling off into her son’s room. 

“Tonight sounds great, if you’re up for it,” Sully grinned. 

Robin’s shoulders sagged an inch in resignation. “Allow me a moment to change into something more suitable,” he agreed. 

While the young man retreated into his room, Chrom and Sully moved back outside, leaning against the wall and chatting while they waited; and within a few minutes, Robin appeared again, wearing a gilt robe and simple gorget under the same coat he’d arrived at the Border Pass in, its gold trim and bold violet designs standing out against the dark material far better now than they had through the road dust at their first meeting. Something about it suited him well, more than any of the ceremonial garb or formal attire...but it wasn’t until Chrom offered his arm and Robin agreeably linked his own with it that he realized just why: all the usual tension in him was gone, leaving only an easy sort of calm as they walked together through the castle halls. 

Stopping outside the Ylissean suite, Sully ducked inside to fetch Sumia, leaving the two young men in the corridor just beyond. “How are you feeling?” the prince asked quietly, settling his free hand over the sovereign’s (and only then did he notice that Robin was wearing gloves again, hiding his Brand from view). 

“Better,” he murmured. “Well enough on the mend now to have permission to escape for an evening, it seems, though my mother still pushed a draught on me before I left, so...”

“Maybe she’s trying to get you to take a break from working,” Chrom pointed out.

“Hmm. Entirely possible,” he agreed. “I don’t see what the trouble is when it’s only handling matters that come to me on parchment…”

“It keeps you from resting. And it’s not as though matters on parchment are any easier than matters in person. I...well. Uh. I was more anxious in the weeks between your first letter arriving and actually _meeting_ you than I think I’ve ever been in my life. But...meeting you helped. A lot. Even though the most embarrassing thing I’ve done in my life happened in the first two minutes.”

Robin buried a fit of laughter in his sleeve, which just made Chrom’s heart swell with warmth as he steadied the young man. “So maybe a break from the parchment will do you good. Have some fun tonight. We could see some performers, maybe, visit the market -- get some of your favorites for dinner, since there’s nobody to stop you…”

“...I’ll see what I can do,” he murmured, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the instant before Sumia and Sully stepped out to join them.

They left the castle by the front gate again, much to the obvious delight of the Plegian guardsmen stationed there. Chrom had only been out in the city once after nightfall, and that had mostly been spent in one of the gardens near the palace; walking through the city streets lit by floating lights, he couldn’t help but marvel at how _different_ everything seemed outside the light of day. Compared to the steady bustle of their daytime explorations, where people worked in shelter and escaped the heat of the day in whatever shade they could find, music and laughter and boundless energy now filled every quarter, and the streets teemed with people making idle conversation and meandering between buildings marked by flames in every color of the rainbow. 

He didn’t know where to begin -- but luckily, Robin truly did seem to know everything about the city and its secrets. Guiding them along the winding roads, they emerged in a spacious courtyard, tiered benches ringing a central platform all carved from the stone of the mesa itself. Though the seats were mostly full, the prince saw the entire crowd stir at the unexpected appearance of Plegia’s sovereign -- and within moments, someone hurried over to escort them to a place with a perfect view of the stage. The show, when it began, was unlike anything Chrom had seen before, combining the music and story of a ballad with sets and costumed actors who sang their lines as they moved before the audience -- but Sumia was in tears by the time the lead characters declared their love in song and embraced to end the play, and the prince couldn’t blame her in the least after seeing them triumph over so many obstacles both together and apart in the other’s name. Before they made their way back toward the street, Chrom saw the sovereign slip a heavy coin purse into a basket by the entrance...and he paused, fishing a handful of gold from his own bag to add to the collection. 

When he turned, he caught Robin watching him, his honey-colored eyes seeming to shine under the soft lights -- and whatever Chrom might have wanted to say deserted him in the face of that smile. 

Making their way back up to the street, the sovereign pointed out various buildings while they walked, some familiar, many not: shopfronts, taverns, places of learning and study, even a bookstore -- something that briefly thrilled Sumia, until she realized that the scrolls were all written in Plegian; even then, she begged for a few minutes to look around, which became nearly an hour once she discovered Robin’s own fascination with adventure stories, leaving Chrom and Sully to watch while they browsed through alcoves packed with scrolls and cheerfully expounded on their favorite tales. 

They likely would have stayed longer, if not for the subtle way the sovereign began to lean against the nearest shelves while they spoke -- something Sumia seemed oblivious to, though it stood out like a red flag to the prince even at a distance. Moving to join them, he offered an apologetic smile as he gently linked his arm with Robin’s, feeling the slightest tremor when he leaned into the prince’s arm. “Sorry to interrupt, but is anybody else hungry?”

The pegasus knight gasped, looking between the books and the cavalier lounging off to one side. “Oh, no! Oh, I’m so sorry for getting us so far off track--”

“Hey, doesn’t bother me,” Sully laughed, moving to join them and hooking her own arm with Sumia’s. “Did’ja have fun?”

“Y-yes,” the pegasus knight replied shyly. 

“Then I’d call it a successful detour,” the cavalier grinned. “A bite sounds good before the next one, though.”

“Head out and look around, see if there’s anything that looks good,” Chrom suggested. “We’ll catch up in a minute.” Waiting until they were well out of sight, he turned back to Robin, carefully shoring him up as he eased away from the shelf. “You alright?”

“Perhaps I’m not quite as well-mended as I thought,” the sovereign chuckled weakly. “I’ll be fine, it’s just an ache, but…”

“Then how about we sit for a while and get something to eat?” Chrom suggested.

Robin smiled, leaning into the prince’s shoulder. “...I’d like that.”

The sovereign took an extra moment to purchase one of the scrolls before they left, offering it to Sumia when they at last stepped outside: apparently, it was one of Robin’s favorite adventure stories -- and a translated copy, no less -- which thrilled the pegasus knight so much that she flung her arms around his shoulders in an exuberant hug (though, thankfully, it didn’t seem to cause the young man any pain, and he managed to keep his feet instead of spilling out into the street). From there, they set out arm in arm, meandering their way down the road before Robin pointed them toward a small building next to a bustling garden courtyard; settling in at the only empty table in view, they barely had time to look around before a man in soft red and gold robes appeared, greeting them warmly as he lay a platter between them heaped with flatbread and surrounded by dishes of nuts, cheese, and bright green herbs, and promising more would follow before hurrying off.

“Do people always get that excited about havin’ you show up?” Sully asked. 

“This is rather exceptional.” Robin chuckled, beginning to tear his bread into smaller pieces. “But I haven’t been seen in the city so much, after what happened on the Day of Remembrance. With the investigation ongoing, the hierophant thought it wiser to wait until the culprit was caught before resuming my visits.”

“It’s really lucky you weren’t hurt,” Sumia said. “We were so worried about you, when we didn’t see you at breakfast those first few days…”

“I do hope I’ll be able to rejoin you soon,” he smiled. “I’ve missed sharing meals with you all -- I’m very pleased we have the chance tonight.”

“How’d you even know this was a place to eat?” Sully asked, tearing a chunk off her own bread and piling herbs and cheese into it. “I would’a passed right by it. Figured it was just some place people came to hang out.”

“It’s the lights,” the sovereign smiled, gesturing to the soft orange lanterns glowing at every corner of the courtyard. “Well, that and I’ve come here before -- rather often, actually: everything is delicious. But the lights mark each establishment by its purpose: red for weapons and armor, orange or yellow for food, green for apothecary services, blue for entertainment, violet for learning.”

“Huh. I never would’ve guessed that,” the cavalier chuckled. 

“I never noticed the lights during the day,” Chrom confessed. “Have they always been there?”

“Oh, no, they’re only present after dark,” the sovereign said. “The capital -- well, much of Plegia, really -- comes alive by night. We mark our days by the setting sun and our months by the phases of the moon. Our religious observances are carried out after dusk or before dawn -- some shops even close their doors after sunrise and open them again at sunset. Those that are still open are marked with colored signs, instead, for those who do their work by day.” 

“...has...has our being here forced you to turn everything around?” he asked. “Ylisse...well, everything happens by day. And you and all your advisors have been meeting us at that.”

“It was very strange for a while, trying to sleep while it was still dark out,” Robin chuckled, “but I think I’ve managed it well enough.” 

The prince wanted to apologize for the disruption their stay had caused their hosts. But before he could, a trio in red and gold appeared beside them, arranging all new dishes around the central flatbreads: a plate of seared meat skewers basted with butter and spices, a pot of stew dyed rich green from the herbs, swirling through it, and a heaping platter of shocking golden grain peppered with small red berries and slivered nuts. 

Chrom swore he could see stars in Sumia’s eyes. “This looks amazing!”

“I fear we’re being spoiled again,” Robin sighed, taking a heaping helping from the yellow dish before passing it on. “This is usually reserved for celebratory occasions.”

“Hey, you won’t hear me complain,” Sully grinned, grabbing a skewer. 

They passed the rest of the meal in pleasant conversation, discussing the play (which, apparently, had been adapted from one of Robin’s favorite ballads), the city, the food -- particularly the slightly tart, slightly sweet grain dish Robin continued to take from, which he described as a western staple -- and everything in between. Once they’d polished the plates, Robin removed another small purse from his coat, and Chrom again pitched in a generous handful of coins before they made their way off again, starting toward the castle rising over the city...with one final detour into the market, where the clusters of lights surrounding the packed stalls made a shimmering rainbow across the narrow aisles. 

The market had always been active by day, but the energy of it by night was entirely different: vibrant, enthusiastic, full of conversation and laughter and good-natured bickering while merchants and customers haggled over prices. They wandered a bit, browsing stalls of richly colored fabric, scarves woven with elaborate designs, jewelry of every type adorned with glittering gemstones, spices from every corner of the nation, perfumes and oils that filled the air with the scent of flowers...with Robin’s guidance (and assistance when it came time to bargain), the prince bought a few gifts for his sisters, and a couple things for himself, besides...but when Robin drifted off to help Sully and Sumia with their shopping, he fumbled his way through one last purchase, tucking it hastily away into the satchel at his side before rejoining the others. 

Making their way back toward the main street, Sully gave Robin’s shoulder a firm pat. “I gotta say, it’s been great havin’ you with us. Thanks for comin’ along.”

“This really has been a wonderful date,” Sumia agreed, leaning against Sully’s arm. 

“Date?” Robin repeated curiously. “Do you mean dessert? I think there’s a stand nearby with date cakes…”

“Oh, no!” the pegasus knight giggled. “A date is...well, in Ylisse, it’s when we go out and spend time together doing fun things like this! Seeing performances, and eating together, and just having a good time.”

“A lot of times it’s romantic,” the cavalier added, winking at Chrom. 

“But it doesn’t have to be,” the prince added hastily, feeling the tops of his ears prickle. 

“When people start seeing each other we say they’re dating,” she pointed out.

“Sully and I have been really close through this whole trip, but this was our first date,” Sumia beamed, hugging the cavalier’s arm. “What about you? How long have you been seeing each other?”

“...was this a romantic outing?” Robin ventured, looking to Chrom. 

He felt Sully and Sumia staring at him, too, and feared his hair would start smouldering soon with how his ears were burning. “I wanted to spend an evening with you,” he mumbled. “Everything else was great, but...all I really wanted was your company.”

The young man’s eyes crinkled at the corners, his weight leaning subtly into Chrom’s arm. “It’s been a lovely date, then,” he murmured. 

Those words made his heart feel fit to burst. 

\-----

They took their time on the way back to the palace, walking arm in arm and chatting all the while about anything and everything that came to mind, from games of chance or strategy to flowers to horses and wyverns (and when Sully expressed interest in the dragons, Robin promised to introduce her to Orton for a beginner’s course with them). It still felt too soon when they reached the castle gates, and he swore their steps slowed on their way through the halls to the Ylissean suite. 

Pausing at the arch, Sumia turned a glowing smile on each of them. “I had a wonderful time with you tonight. Thank you so much for coming with us,” she added, beaming at Robin, “and thank you so much for the book! O-or, well, scroll. I can’t wait to read it -- do you think we could do this again sometime, maybe?”

“It would be my pleasure, if we could,” the sovereign smiled. “I had a lovely evening with you all; thank you for inviting me along on your date.”

Chrom’s heart stumbled at those words, and skipped another beat when the young man’s arm tightened on his. “Do you mind if I walk you back?” the prince asked. 

“Not at all,” Robin smiled. 

“Go ahead in, I gotta stick with the captain. Frederick’s orders,” Sully sighed. “We’ll be back in a few.”

“Thanks again,” the pegasus knight giggled, leaning in to kiss the cavalier’s cheek before disappearing inside with a final parting wave. 

Making their way back up to the sovereign’s room, Chrom enjoyed the comfortable quiet around them, hearing Sully’s steps fall back to give them some semblance of privacy. “I had a great time with you tonight,” he murmured. 

“Thank you again for inviting me,” Robin chuckled. “It’s been a while since I’ve had so much fun...and sharing it with you made it all the better.”

The prince very nearly tripped, as fast as he turned toward the young man beside him. Robin was smiling, something small and warm that made his eyes shine gold, and Chrom swore his cheeks were turning to a dusky rose color beneath his tan…

He very nearly forgot where they were going until the young man beside him stopped. “Thank you for seeing me back,” Robin chuckled. “I will see you again soon, I hope?”

“As soon as I can,” he agreed, reluctantly letting the young man step away (but keeping hold of his hand, if only for another moment). 

“Good night, Sully,” Robin called, waving to the cavalier lounging a few paces down the hall before turning back to the prince with a smile. “Good night, Chrom.”

“Good night,” he murmured, and suddenly his mind was a whirling chaos of emotion and half-formed thoughts he couldn’t quite put together into words beyond a plea for Robin to stay…

His free hand strayed down to his hip, and he tightened his fingers on the sovereign’s hand. “O-oh, before you go! I, uh...I got you something. In the market.” 

Robin perked up, leaning in closer while the prince fumbled about with his satchel...and finally removed a small gold wyvern rearing up on its hind legs, its neck curved down to look at its talons and its wings swept forward into a smooth hooked shape. “I think it’s for holding your scrolls while you read,” he ventured. “You had a lot of little things kind of like it in your room, along with the books and scrolls, and…it made me think of you.”

The young man took it gently, running his thumb over the scaled brow as a glowing smile lit his eyes. “It’s lovely,” he breathed. “It’s... _perfect._ Thank you, Chrom.”

Before he could muster up a reply, Robin leaned close, brushing a shy kiss across the prince’s cheek. “Good night,” the young man murmured, holding the little dragon close against his heart. 

And then he was gone, the heavy curtains rippling in his wake.

It took Sully marching up the hall and grabbing his arm to get him moving. “Come on, lover boy, Fredrick’s gonna have a fit if you’re any later,” she snickered.

“Lover b...lover boy?” he repeated. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I _not_ just see you get a kiss from the guy you’ve been mooning over for the past two months?”

“I haven’t been _mooning,_ ” Chrom protested. 

“You don’t shut up about him for more than ten minutes unless you’re asleep,” she shot back, “an’ every time he’s around you can’t take your damn eyes off him. You’re _mooning._ ”

He could feel the tops of his ears burning again at the accusation. Mostly because he had to admit it was true. “Is it really that obvious?” 

“It’s made me wanna tear my hair out,” she replied solemnly (though she couldn’t hide her grin). “But hey, you got a kiss, right? I’d call that progress, wouldn’t you?”

He swore he could still feel it tingling on his cheek when he smiled. “Yeah. I would.” Walking back through the halls, his steps felt light and easy, and even Sully’s good-natured teasing just made him laugh as he shouldered his way past the curtains into the Ylissean suite--

“Milord!”

“I’m fine, Frederick,” he sighed, exasperated but for once not frustrated with the great knight launching himself across the room to accost them. “We were just out for a walk. You can relax, we’re completely fine--”

“And thank Naga for that!” Frederick said, proceeding to inspect the prince from head to toe. “What were you thinking, taking the Plegian sovereign with you!?”

Something hard and cold solidified in the pit of his stomach. Looking to where the great knight had been when they entered, he saw Sumia sitting on the couch, pale and trembling from what he could only assume was the interrogation they’d interrupted. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered, clutching her scroll tighter. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to tell him, I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay, Sumia,” Chrom assured her, gently nudging Sully in the pegasus knight’s direction before turning back to Frederick. “What’s wrong with inviting a friend to show us his city? Isn’t that what we came here for?”

“You _came here_ in your sister’s stead to fulfill a diplomatic mission,” the great knight replied, the dangerous edge to his voice clipping every word. “Your _duty_ has been to take part in the negotiations and agreements on Ylisse’s behalf, not go galavanting off into the most dangerous place on the continent!”

“What _danger?”_ the prince scoffed. “Plegia’s no more dangerous than Ylisse is. I haven’t seen a single cutpurse since we crossed the border--”

“I’m not referring to low-life scoundrels -- not even a month ago, their sovereign was attacked by unknown forces who remain at large! How could you put your life in danger, going out like that with him, you might have been killed!”

Chrom opened his mouth...and closed it again, his eyes narrowing as he drew himself up to his full height. “What do you mean, _I_ could have been killed? _I’m_ not the one who was attacked at the ceremony.”

“Yet by placing yourself in the company of the man who _was,_ you risk becoming a casualty! You _must_ take more care with your life--”

“What about Robin?” he demanded folding his arms across his chest. 

“What _about_ him, Milord?” the great knight sighed.

“ _He’s_ the one whose life was threatened. _He’s_ the one that could have been killed. Why are you so up in arms about _my_ life when _I’m_ not the one in danger?”

“My duty is to _you,_ Milord, not to the Plegians. Their sovereign has more than enough of his own people to worry about his safety--”

“You don’t care, do you.”

His fingers curled into shaking fists, tight enough that he could feel his knuckles aching from the strain. “Plegia could have lost its sovereign, and the only thing you care about is keeping _me_ under lock and key. You haven’t shown _any_ support for him _or_ these people, or let _me_ show it outside one appearance -- if it were Emm who’d been attacked you’d be up in arms and demanding justice...”

“That’s hardly a fair comparison--”

“Why? Because he’s not Ylissean?”

Frederick sucked in a breath, then released it in a slow, forced sigh. “It is not our place to interfere in their affairs--”

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t supposed to _care!”_ Chrom snapped. “Robin could have _died_. _His life_ is the one at risk, stop acting like _my_ safety is more important!”

“It _is--”_

_“IT’S NOT!!!”_

His roar sent the great knight reeling back a few steps and stilled the rest of the company who had gathered to watch. “I came here in my sister’s stead to find a way to bring _peace_ to our nations. How am I supposed to do that when at every turn you stop me from learning what their country is like? I don’t _care_ if I took a risk going out with him tonight, because it brought me one step closer to understanding what Plegia _truly is_.”

“Be that as it may, Milord, I cannot condone the danger you place yourself in -- if you were hurt because of him--”

“ _Because_ of him!? _”_ the prince repeated. “How would it be _his fault_ if someone attacked him and I happened to be injured alongside him?”

“He’s the one who made a big speech about keepin’ us all safe,” one of the guardsmen muttered. “If you got hurt, it’d be ‘cause he let you. Proved him for the snake he is.”

Chrom squared his shoulders, turning to stare at the man standing by the wall. “What did you say?”

“Alright, that’s quite enough,” Frederick cut in, placing himself between prince and soldier. “It has been a very fraught night, and sleep would likely do us all good. Come along, Milord--”

“I can see myself there,” he replied coldly, stepping out from under the hand on his shoulder. 

“...as you say,” the great knight bowed. 

Striding across the room, the prince paused briefly to lay a comforting hand on Sumia’s arm, waving away her sniffled apologies with the best smile he could muster; and when Sully rose to help the pegasus knight up and off to bed, he joined them, keeping a steady hand on Sumia’s elbow while she leaned into the cavalier on their way to the bedrooms. 

“Thanks,” Sully muttered at the arch. “Sorry the night crashed so hard.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” he replied quietly. “That’s true for _both_ of you. Get some rest, okay?” The pegasus knight nodded, scrubbing at her eyes with the heel of one hand as she slipped through the curtains...but before Sully could follow, he lay a hand on her shoulder. 

She looked back at him, brows knitting in confusion. “What’s up?”

His gaze wandered back to the guardsmen milling on the far side of the room. Fighting down the dread twisting in the pit of his stomach, he turned back to her, drawing in a deep breath...and offering a silent prayer for whatever gods might be listening to preserve him. 

“I’m going to need another favor.”

\-----

Chrom waited.

Not long. Just a few days: enough time for his anger to cool, and some besides to figure out a course of action. Strategy was not his strong suit, and never had been -- but he recognized the value in it, even so, and did his best to prepare. 

“You with me?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at Sully.

“All the way,” she nodded.

He was more grateful for that than he could say. 

A deep breath, a short sigh...and he straightened up, doing his best to look relaxed when he shouldered his way into the common room where the Ylissean party spent so much of their time. Most of the guardsmen sat around one of the tables to the side playing cards, drawing the occasional disgruntled look from Miriel as she tried to read over their raucous laughter -- and the prince made his way toward them, putting on his best grin. “Mind if we join in?”

“Course not,” one of the soldiers replied, scooting over and pulling over a pair of extra cushions. “Hope you got some coin on ya, the fusspot’s preoccupied so we’re bettin’ while the bettin’s good.”

“Count me in, then,” Chrom agreed, fishing a few coins from his satchel and stacking them on the table beside him while new hands were dealt. Taking up the cards...he ran his thumb over the wild card in the middle of the pack. A card of ruin for whoever held it, bearing Grima’s fiery eyes and outstretched wings, blood dripping from ragged jaws open wide in a mocking grin. Strange that such an omen would fall into his hand -- but time would tell what luck it would bring him. 

Swiftly ordering his cards, he laid out a full suite of sixes, keeping the hearts on top; a few admiring murmurs and at least one curse floated around the table before a few others lay down their matches -- twos for one, fours for another. The dealer reached across the table to pluck a card from his fellow soldier’s fan...and crowed, laying out a set of eights for himself. That would be hard to beat -- especially if he made another match before game’s end. 

Shuffling his hand a bit, the prince hid his wild card near the middle of the pack, glancing around at the other players. He knew most of them, by face if not by name; more than half had been part of the Ylissean army during the last war, and took positions in the guard after its end. They’d told stories about their experiences all through the journey to the Border Pass, and though the tales had not resurfaced among their Plegian company, he’d heard more than a few unkind remarks in the privacy of the Ylissean rooms once he took the time to listen. Complaints about the heat, the terrain, the endless sand...and the people who had learned to survive and thrive in it. 

Looking across the table, he met the eye of the guardsman who’d spoken out on the night of their outing with Robin. He had been one of the men telling tales around the fire of Plegia’s wicked mages, and making snide remarks about their hosts through the last few evenings. “So how has this mission been for you?” Chrom asked casually, taking a card from the far right side of the man’s fan. 

“In what way?” he replied. 

“You’ve been in Plegia before, haven’t you? Has it been hard, coming back?”

“Truth be told, I never thought I’d have to set foot in this godsforsaken place again,” the man snorted. “Wasn’t too happy ‘bout it. Still ain’t, what with how these damn Plegians are messin’ with us.”

“How’s that?” Sully piped up, nabbing a card from another soldier. 

“Actin’ all nice an’ friendly, makin’ us think they’re changed. They’re jes’ tryin’ t’get in our heads, lull us until we let our guard down before they pillage us for all we got.”

“Why do you say that?” the prince prompted, watching the soldiers take their turns before the dealer took his second card from a different hand, shuffling his fan and nodding to Chrom. 

“You weren’t there,” the man shrugged. “They had their wyvern’s shriekin’ over our heads all night, like they were makin’ ready to attack -- but it never happened. Fuckin’ with our heads, gettin’ us so riled we couldn’t fight back when they _did_ strike. Makin’ shadow puppets, big ones, get us all attackin’ in one place an’ then comin’ in from behind to pick us off. They wrote the book on dirty tricks, an’ they got no qualms about usin’ any of ‘em.”

“So how did you fight them before?”

The soldier grinned, reaching over and taking a card from the prince’s fan. “A good blast can even blow a shadow out into the light. Easy pickin’s from there.”

“Them blast jars?” the dealer ventured. “Wicked things. Her Grace banned ‘em right off once the war was over.”

“We’re the ones what made ‘em, though,” another man scoffed. “We can do it again.”

Chrom’s gaze flicked over to Sully before he reached out to take a card from the soldier’s hand. “Are they that easy to make?”

“Eh, there’s a trick to it,” he chuckled...and winced, very slightly, when the prince plucked up his choice -- a ten, and likely one the man had been aiming to match. “Powder’s gotta be the right mix’a things, which ain’t so bad, so long as you’re measurin’ right. Sy was always a fine hand at that,” he noted, nodding to the first man (who puffed out his chest before taking a card from Sully). “Shell’s the hard part, really. Gotta make sure it’s thick enough so it don’t shatter when it hits where you’re aimin’, but not so thick it don’t blow when the fuse lights the powder.”

“You got real good at that, didn’cha, Van?” Sy grinned.

“Good enough I could fill a jar with iron leavings an’ have it blow them rats straight to the grave,” he agreed proudly. 

Chrom took a slow breath, fighting to keep the rage boiling in his chest under control. Watching the men take their turns, he waited for his own...and picked from the dealer beside him, leaning back so that Sully could follow suit and feigning frustration when she laid out a suite of sevens. “Come t’think of it, remember the big blast on the festival night? Never seen anything like that before,” she remarked. “How’s that stack up against a blast jar?”

“Oh, that was a good one,” Sy laughed, following the unspoken lead and snatching a card from the dealer. “Haven’t seen one go off that nice in more’n fifteen years.”

His hand was shaking when he took the dealer’s last card, laying out a suite of threes and listening to the man’s resigned sigh as he pushed his coin to the center of the table. “Why do you think it happened?”

“‘Cause somebody had t’do somethin’ ‘bout that monster,” the guardsman shrugged. “I’d say they’re a hero, whoever they are.”

Sully snatched another card from one of the other soldiers, shuffling her fan rather more aggressively than usual. “Y’mean that whole ‘Heart of Grima’ thing they talked about?” she muttered. 

“Anybody claimin’ t’be part of Grima ain’t fit t’live,” Sy snorted. 

“Ain’t even _human,_ ” Van added. “Blast didn’ even scathe it. At that distance it ought’ve ripped a man’s arm off.”

“He did blow it back up a little,” the first guard muttered. “Should’ve figured he’d have a tome on ‘im somewhere, they all do.”

Chrom knew they didn’t. But he bit his tongue and took another card from a nearby soldier to winnow down his already meager hand…

He paused for a moment, looking down at the image of his father. The deck’s saving grace, and the only match to quell the fell dragon concealed within his fan. 

The prince slid it into the far end of his hand without bothering to shuffle, and Sully took it without hesitation. “Do you know how it was done?” he asked, his voice far steadier than his hands.

“Lob it off the cliff into the courtyard,” Van replied without hesitation. “Stage backs right onto it. Still night, no wind, a good arm’s all you need.” 

“You guys really had it all figured out, didn’cha,” Sully muttered.

“For a rush job, it went off pretty well,” Sy agreed. “Just a shame it didn’t kill ‘im like it ought’ve.”

“Why.”

Chrom almost choked on the word, remembering only when Sully nudged him under the table to take his card: another ten, shuffled in to give his hands something to do. The two guardsmen looked at him with something like pity. “You weren’t there,” Van said. “Sure, you got a taste of this dead waste on the way here, but you don’t know what it was like. Took us three years, an’ we got within spittin’ distance of that skull, so close we could _taste_ victory -- no more Grimmers to worry about, no chance that monster they worship would ever rear its ugly head again. But then they found that _Heart of Grima._ ”

Sy spat at the mere mention, lips curling into a sneer. “We’d fought our way through their barbarian hoards and heathen mages, an’ we’d taken our hits. Lost some good people on the way. But we were goin’ strong -- we were ‘bout to take the capital, end it once ‘n’ fer all -- an’ suddenly we were takin’ blows from all sides. Never knew what kind of unholy power that _Heart_ gave ‘em, but they started killin’ us in droves, skulkin’ outta th’ dark, vanishin’ in smoke. Our allies, our comrades, our _friends --_ they’re _dead_ ‘cause of that _thing_. Ain’t nothin’ in Naga’s blessed lands or these fell-cursed ones that’ll stop us from avengin’ their loss.”

“Then why did you attack _him._ ”

The table went still around him. “If you want someone to blame for those deaths, blame my father. _He’s_ the one that sent you all marching into Plegia, who refused to back down when his people were dying both at home and abroad. Not Robin.”

“They’re gettin’ to your head,” Sy muttered. “Twistin’ yer mind with that evil magic they got: that ain’t a man, it’s their monster in disguise. Your father had the right idea, tryin’ t’wipe ‘em all out before they could bring it back -- might’ve failed ourselves, but it took Naga’s Fang t’kill Grima back a thousand years ago. All you’d need t’do is take Falchion--”

That was all Chrom could take. 

He surged across the table, grabbing the man by the collar and hauling him up until his feet left the ground. He heard chaos erupting around him, saw Sully tackle Van to the ground and put him in a chokehold, and for just a moment he weighed whether to strike them down here and now…

_“Milord!!”_

Out of nowhere Frederick appeared in the fray, dragging them apart. “What is the _meaning_ of this!?” he demanded, hauling the cavalier up off the floor to free the guardsman she had pinned. “Have you gone _mad--”_

“It was them,” the prince said, his voice silencing the great knight’s budding tirade. “They’re the ones who attacked the sovereign on the Day of Remembrance.”

Frederick looked at the two soldiers nursing the beginnings of bruises, then back at Chrom and Sully. “This is a _grave_ accusation,” he cautioned. “What proof do you have?”

“They admitted it themselves,” the prince replied, staring the two men down. “Everyone here heard them. They made the blast jar and intended to kill Robin.”

“They implied Chrom should try, too,” Sully muttered. 

While the great knight looked to the other assembled guardsmen around the table for confirmation, the prince stepped forward, back straight and shoulders squared. “I’m going to inform the sovereign that I found his attackers.”

Their faces went ashen in a heartbeat. “You can’t!” Van pleaded, dropping to his knees and grasping desperately at Chrom’s tunic. 

“I can,” the prince replied coldly, “and I will. If I didn’t think it would start another war, I would hand you over to them so they could mete out justice.” Sy fell beside his fellow soldier, their terrified stares roving across his expression as he towered over them. “but rest assured: you may not suffer for this crime at Plegian hands, but I will make _sure_ that you’re both well and justly punished when we return to Ylisse.”

Striding toward the curtains leading out of the suite, the prince heard Frederick turn his fury on the would-be assassins as he ducked into the hall, winding his way up to the sovereign’s room...and steeling himself for what he feared would follow. “Robin?” he called, knocking lightly on the arch. 

“Chrom?”

The prince ducked through, watching the young man hastily putting aside another stack of parchment. “What brings you by so late?”

“Indeed.”

The hierophant’s voice caught him off guard; glancing at the man gliding smoothly across the common room to join his son, Chrom felt his mouth go dry...but this, he knew, was important. _Vital_. And he would not shy from it. 

“I found the men who attacked you.”

Validar stiffened, watching the prince with all the intensity of a snake preparing to strike. “Who?”

“...two of my guardsmen.”

The hierophant’s nails shrieked across his bracelet. “I’ll see them _rent apart--_ ”

“You can’t.”

He heard his words echoed from the sovereign, and felt a small, bitter sort of relief lance through the dread weighing on his shoulders. At least he’d gotten that right. “If Plegia took Ylissean prisoners, no matter how justified, the halidom would be up in arms,” Chrom explained. “My sister might not be willing to go to war, but she can’t ignore the will of her people, either.”

“It would ruin any chance of peaceful diplomacy,” Robin added. “The halidom would have every reason to annul any or _all_ of the terms they’ve agreed to thus far until their men are returned safely, and any trust they had in us would be destroyed by the time we returned to negotiations. We...there’s nothing we can do.”

The prince shook his head, kneeling before Plegia’s sovereign. “Maybe not. But I can do something: I can bind them, brand them as criminals, and take them back to Ylisse without delay to stand trial and receive punishment to match their crime. And an attempted assassination carries a steep penalty.”

“Will your courts see it as such a stark offense?” the hierophant hissed. 

“I’ll make _sure_ they do,” Chrom replied, meeting the man’s eye steadily. “What they did is _unforgivable,_ and I won’t let this rest until _justice_ is done, for you and Plegia both. ...even if I didn’t have a hand in it, this happened under my leadership: it’s my responsibility to make sure this is addressed, and handled _right,_ so that people in the halidom know these crimes won’t be tolerated -- so that nothing like this will _ever_ happen again.”

Turning back to Robin...he bowed his head, staring at the floor for fear of what he would see in the young man’s face if he lifted his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I’m sorry that I didn’t see it sooner, and couldn’t stop it before it came to this. I’m s...I’m so sorry, Robin, and I _know_ there can be no forgiving this, no _trust_ after this, but plea... _please_ let us try…”

Gentle hands cupped his face, lifting his head just enough to see the young man’s face, blurred and distorted through tears that had begun without his notice. “Did they act under your orders, or by your will?” he asked. 

“Of course not!” Chrom insisted. 

“And you intend to address their cruelty?”

“As soon as I’m able.”

“Then why would I distrust you?”

Shifting closer, Robin dried the prince’s eyes, clearing his vision just enough to see the smile crinkling at the corners of the sovereign’s own. “I have met wonderful people from Ylisse in these past few months. People who want to learn, who are willing to see the truth of what Plegia is...people I am happy to call my friends. Why would that change because of two cruel men? To judge you all by the worst among you would do grave disservice to your best and kindest.”

The young man slipped his arms around Chrom’s shoulders in a gentle, unmistakable embrace; hardly daring to breathe, he wrapped his arms around the sovereign, returning it in trembling kind. “I trust you,” he murmured, “and all the more for taking responsibility, and setting out to right this. Thank you, Chrom.”

Pressing his face into the curve of Robin’s neck, he felt a hand smooth across his shoulders, fingertips brushing feather-light over his nape. Unbidden, he remembered the card he’d kept so carefully during his veiled investigation: Plegia’s protector, guarding them from losing all they cared for...

And silently he thanked the gods for listening to his plea.


	6. Travel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though the Ylissean party's visit to Plegia is cut short, Chrom is relieved to find that his time with Robin has not yet reached an end. Traveling from the capital to the Border Pass, he makes every effort to learn whatever else he can about the halidom's neighbor...but it does not change how heavy his heart grows when he and the sovereign are forced to part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ~~Somehow I managed to finish this on the day of I'm so happy.~~ This chapter is _sad_ but I _promise_ it's going to get better -- one chapter to go! We can make it!!
> 
> As always, dashes (-) indicate a change of scene. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

They announced to the capital that the assassins had been found -- and they did so together, just as they had after the attack. This time, though, Chrom did not stand silent by the sovereign’s side: he spoke, apologizing for the crimes committed by his men and by his father before him, and swearing to see justice done on Plegia’s behalf rather than invite more conflict to their borders. 

But with that oath, he knew his time with them had come to an end. 

He and the rest of the Ylissean delegation spent the day preparing for the journey home, packing their things and clearing out their suite of rooms in near silence. Their last midday meal with their hosts had been equally subdued, and even when the sovereign smiled comfortingly at him from across the table Chrom could barely muster up a grin in return. He was going to miss this -- _all_ of this...but most of all, he would miss his time with Robin, from their explorations to their conversations to the moments spent quietly in one another’s company. 

He could think of very little he wouldn’t give to make it last.

As nightfall approached and the scorching heat began to wane, they made their way to the stables where their horses and pegasi had been housed throughout their visit, readying their tack for the journey ahead. Without a mount of his own to tend, Chrom wandered a bit, looking over the Plegian stock being brushed and saddled for the escort; he’d marveled on the way to the capital at how they managed to traverse the desert with such ease -- relative to the Ylissean horses, at least -- but he hadn’t noticed before how small they were by comparison, lightly built with arched necks and oddly-shaped heads...

A light whicker caught his attention; when he glanced up, he saw a Plegian bay ambling toward him through the busy courtyard, her gilded tack shimmering with every step. Odd, to see a horse unattended -- though perhaps stranger still was the fact that she looked somehow familiar. Catching her reins, he offered his free hand, smiling when she bumped her nose into his palm. “Hello, there. What are you doing, wandering all by yourself?” he chuckled. 

“I could ask you the same question.”

His heart leapt up into his throat at that familiar voice. 

The mare made another soft sound as Chrom turned to see Robin weaving through the assembled riders, one waterskin slung over his shoulder and a second tucked under his other arm. “I was just looking around a little,” the prince replied sheepishly. “There’s not a lot for me to do, since I don’t have a horse.”

“You could help with the preparations, couldn’t you?” the young man suggested. 

“I’d say yes, if Sumia’s pegasus didn’t hate me. And Sully’s horse would sooner bite my hand off than let me hold his reins.”

“And assisting Sir Frederick is out of the question?” he chuckled. 

“Not unless I want to get fussed out of every task,” Chrom muttered. 

“Perhaps you could help me, then,” Robin smiled, gesturing vaguely toward the bags he carried; lifting the one off his shoulder, the prince tucked it against his chest, watching the sovereign move to fix the other to the mare’s saddle. “Thank you for catching Amber, by the way. I told her to wait, but apparently she preferred to follow.”

“Amber?” he repeated, wandering around the bay to tie the second waterskin in place. 

The mare snorted and shook her head, craning her neck to lip at Robin’s hair. “Amber,” he laughed, patting her nose fondly. “I helped raise her from a foal and trained her myself. Ordinarily I visit much more, but...well, circumstances being what they were...she’s normally very good with instructions, but I think she’s protesting my absence.”

“...are you going somewhere?” Chrom ventured, wandering back to the sovereign’s side while the young man checked the various saddle bags and tested the distribution of weight. It shouldn’t have surprised him: Emm had countless duties as Exalt, both large and small, that kept her busy from morning to night -- it only made sense that Robin, as Plegia’s sovereign, would too -- all of which must have been put on hold for months to tend their diplomatic engagements…

“I’m on my way to the border,” he agreed. “My Ylissean friends are making their way back home, and I would like to see them off.”

The prince stared at him, watching the corners of his eyes begin to crinkle as he tried to hide a smile. “You’re coming?”

“Did I not mention it?” the young man asked, looking genuinely surprised. “I informed my father before the announcement. He was...less than pleased.” That, at least, did not surprise him. “But there’s still the treaty to finalize, which I must undersign to approve, so he agreed on the condition that I go under guard. Henry and Tharja are a given, of course, but thankfully Mustafa and Orton constitute suitable protection in his judgment.”

“What about…” Chrom paused, looking around the busy yard, then back at the sovereign in his careworn travel coat. As far as the prince could tell, there were still only six people who knew the truth of what had happened in the attack -- possibly eight, if the berserker and wyvern rider set to act as his guards had been informed--

“Are you riding with Sully again?” Robin asked. 

“What? Oh, uh...no, not this time. She’s part of the prison guard.” As one of the people he trusted most, Chrom had wanted her above all others assigned to the task; the fact that she volunteered even before he could make the request was something he appreciated more than words could say. “Which means I’m probably going to get stuck riding with Frederick.”

“Or you could ride with me.”

Chrom wished he could blame the heat in his face on a fresh sunburn. The sovereign, meanwhile, continued to smile at him, canting his head slightly to one side. “There are still all manner of things to discuss, so it makes sense to travel together. Or...do you imagine Sir Frederick might take issue with it--”

“Frederick can keep his complaints to himself for once,” the prince cut in. Grinning, Robin pulled himself up into the saddle, offering his hand down to help Chrom up behind him and waiting patiently for the prince to make himself comfortable. “Are you sure you’re up for such a long trip?” he asked, keeping his voice low as his hand settled below the wound. 

“My mother approved me for travel this morning,” the young man replied softly, making one last check of the mare’s saddlebags. “She did caution that it would be wisest to ride only for short periods and rest well between, but agreed that the desert portion of the trek would likely be fine.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Chrom chuckled. “So what is it you want to discuss on the way? ...I hope you’re not expecting to work through the negotiations while we ride -- I really don’t have a head for any of it.”

“I’d be happy to teach you, if you’re interested,” Robin offered, taking the reins comfortably in hand; a light click of his tongue was all it took for the mare’s head to come up, her high steps prancing through the busy assembly while the prince wrapped his arms a bit more securely around the young man’s waist (and to his relief, Robin did not hiss or flinch at the touch). “But no, we don’t need to discuss the treaty terms. I’d like to learn more about Ylisse, if I could, and there’s still a great deal more to Plegia if you’re curious to know.”

“...could I...maybe know more about you, too?” he ventured, pointedly ignoring the grin that sliced across Sully’s face when they passed. 

Robin glanced over his shoulder, his cheeks seeming slightly darker under his tan than usual. “...if you like,” he agreed shyly. 

Chrom beamed, settling comfortably behind the saddle and chatting quietly with Robin while they waited for the rest of the traveling party to finish their preparations. He had one last chance to learn all he could -- and he intended to make every moment count. 

\-----

Chrom remembered -- vaguely -- thinking that the mid-spring heat of the desert was unbearable on their way from the Border Pass to the capital; it was _nothing_ compared to the late summer sun beating down on the sand, baking everything under the cloudless sky regardless of what cover they managed to find. He’d never been more grateful for the little rune stones the Plegians kept in ample supply. 

The heat had slowed their progress, too, limiting the hours they could safely travel after sunrise and before sunset -- though he had a feeling part of that was for the sovereign’s sake, as well. Riding behind him, Chrom felt the young man wince whenever the pace picked up, and by the end of each trek he was usually holding Robin up rather than steadying himself; the shorter rides seemed a kindness...and all the more for the fact that after the camp settled, the sovereign invariably sought him out to talk into the deepest hours of the night, huddled together beneath a blanket to stave off the cold; or to drowse through the hottest part of the day against the prince’s shoulder, sprawled in whatever cover they’d taken refuge in. 

“So where are we now?”

Robin stirred at the question, beginning to paw through his pockets in search of his map while Chrom leaned into his shoulder, feeling the cool breeze ruffling through his hair. Despite having one of his own, the added breeze coming from Robin’s stone when they sat so close was infinitely preferable to being alone in the shade. Finally producing the thick square of parchment, Chrom watched him unfold it into an increasingly large sheet, taking the nearest side and drawing it open across their laps to see the details. “Let’s see,” he mumbled, smoothing out the creases before tracing a path with the tip of one finger, starting from the capital marked by the six-eyed skull and continuing out into the desert toward the eastern mountains. “We should be...somewhere around here,” he decided, tapping at a cluster of ink smudges northeast of the Dragon’s Table. 

While the young man settled comfortably against him again, the prince traced the same path himself, continuing out from their present shelter to the Border Pass. At their current pace, they still had at least another week’s trek to reach the mountains, by his estimate…

Robin stirred again, his head coming up as a low sound filled the air. “Do you hear that?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” Chrom muttered, picking himself up and pacing through the shadows in search of the source. “What is that?” It was getting louder now, a vibration so deep and sonorous that it shook him down to his very bones…

“The dunes are singing.”

The rest of the party had begun to rouse now, the Ylisseans guarded and tense while the Plegians remained relaxed and even _cheerful_ \-- it might have been his imagination, but he swore he heard Orton whistling when he wandered past. “That was _literal?”_ he asked. 

“Well, of course,” the sovereign grinned. “What did you imagine it meant?”

“I-I don’t know, we talk about the wind singing in Ylisse, I thought it was like that!”

Taking to his own feet, Robin hummed an idle tune as he began to fold the map...only to pause as another sound reached them: music, somewhere off in the distance, overlaying the thrum of the sands around them with instruments the prince could not name. He pulled the map open again as Chrom moved to join him, scanning the heavy parchment while the prince tried to find their place again...only for the young man to rush off toward Mustafa before he could even get his bearings. 

“It’s a departure from course,” he heard the berserker caution as he hurried to join them. 

“Not a large one -- here, look, this is where we are, and here’s where we’d be going. It’s close enough that we could ride for it now with minimal risk, and it would only add perhaps an extra morning to the journey…”

“What’s going on?” the prince asked.

Robin beamed at him. “Would you like to see the village?” 

“What village?”

“Can’t you hear the singing?” he laughed. “We bypassed the desert settlements on the way from the Border Pass, but as close as we are...I know it’s a bit out of the way, but since we have an opportunity…”

“Do you think they’d mind?” the prince ventured.

“I think they’d be glad for the visit.” the sovereign smiled. “And it would give us an opportunity to refill our waterskins before the next part of the trek, in case we need to justify the detour.”

“I’m all in favor,” Chrom agreed. With a fond sigh, Mustafa moved to prepare the rest of the camp -- and after a few moments spent re-folding his map and tucking it away into a hidden inner pocket, Robin led the prince to where the horses milled in the shade, readying Amber’s tack and mounting up long before their friends could gather. “You’re not looking forward to this, are you?” he teased, wrapping his arms loosely around the young man’s waist while the mare idly pawed the sandy stones. 

Robin grinned over his shoulder. “Now why would you ever think that?”

“I wonder,” Chrom chuckled. In little enough time they set off with Robin in the lead, keeping to the shadows of the dunes whenever they were able to escape at least some of the day’s heat...but the song grew louder and more welcoming with every step, until at last the walls of a small village appeared in view, paler than the surrounding sands. When they trotted through the open gate, he heard the song quiet, watched the villagers lay down their instruments and gather close...and among them, he caught a scattering of faces framed by pale hair like Robin’s.

“Welcome, travelers,” an elderly woman called as she moved to greet them. “My, but it’s an odd time to be riding, is it not?”

“We were resting nearby when we heard the music,” the sovereign smiled, dismounting with ease. “We hoped we could rest among you a while before setting off when the day cools.”

“Of course you may,” she chuckled, taking his hands gently in hers. “Come, join us -- it’s been some time since we’ve had a visit from travelers, or heard the dunes sing so sweetly; have you come from the capital?”

While they led the horses to a sheltered stable to drink and rest, Robin chatted easily with the woman, introducing Chrom and the rest of the Ylisseans while they tended to their mounts; to his surprise, the gathering Plegians met the news with interest rather than trepidation, and soon enough there were questions flying from all directions, laughter and conversation replacing the music that had guided them by the time the sands fell silent once more…

“Robbie!!”

The sovereign whipped around so fast that he nearly fell; instinctively, the prince grabbed his arm to keep him upright -- only to stumble himself as two white-haired children flung themselves at Robin, squealing in delight as they latched onto him. “It _is_ you! We’ve missed you so much!!” the older of the two said, her voice slightly muffled in his chest. 

“I’ve missed you, too,” he laughed, crouching down to hug them both tight. 

“Are these friends of yours?” Chrom asked, bending down to greet them. 

Both looked up at him when he spoke -- and instantly shied behind the sovereign, who only laughed and ruffled their hair as he rose. “Starling, Sparrow, this is my friend Chrom,” he smiled. 

The bird names were instantly recognizable. “...cousins?” he ventured as the younger one crept out to offer a shy bow.

“That they are,” another voice chuckled...and Robin turned again, beaming as he opened his arms to a pale-haired man that looked shockingly like Wren (and all he could think of was her remark that her son didn’t get his height from her -- nor her side of the family, judging by the difference between the two when they embraced).

“It’s good to see you, Uncle Jay,” he murmured. “It’s been too long.”

“It’s good to see you,” the man replied, hugging Robin tight. “I’d not expected you to bring your Ylissean friends -- Prince Chrom, yes? It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s mine,” the prince grinned, offering his hand to shake and glancing sidelong at the young man beside him. “Is this why you were so excited to come?” 

“Perhaps,” Robin winked, reaching down to take his cousin’s hand.

“I do hope you’ll join us for a while,” Jay said, stooping to pick up his younger daughter. “We’re eager to hear how your visit with us has been.”

“It would be my honor,” Chrom agreed, automatically offering his arm to the sovereign...and feeling his heart leap when Robin took it with a smile that made his eyes shine gold. 

\-----

“So we’re...here?”

Robin leaned against Chrom’s shoulder, lifting the light a bit higher to see. His free hand drifted across the map spread between their laps, his fingers brushing over the prince’s while they traced the path. “...yes,” he agreed, the corners of his eyes crinkling when he lifted his head. “Exactly right.”

Beaming, Chrom smoothed the creases in the parchment, tilting it into the steady glow from the flame resting in the young man’s palm. “We’re almost to the mountains,” he remarked. The peaks had been growing with each passing day, but he hadn’t realized they were so near to the end: another day, perhaps two, and they’d be in the foothills, and from there another week until…

He shook his head to clear the thoughts. He had time left, and no interest in wasting it. Lifting the map, he squinted at the waypoint where they currently rested, scanning the surrounding area for anything of interest. The visit with Robin’s uncle -- and the whole village besides -- had been a welcome break from the trek, and they’d left somewhat later than usual following a warm meal that left them all in high spirits; after that, Chrom had taken every opportunity to seek out other little detours, from a quiet oasis sheltered by worn cliffs to an outpost dedicated to wyvern rider training drills, each one with its own history and purpose...and each one adding just a little more to the time he had left. Circling out from their current location...he paused, squinting at the parchment. “Is there a village here?”

The sovereign blinked, leaning close to see. “...not anymore,” he murmured. 

Looking at the map again, the thin strike through the name coupled with the course they were on...Chrom felt his heart sink. “My father…?”

“One of the first we lost,” Robin nodded. “Some, like my uncle’s village, we were able to restore in the years after the war’s end. Many others had their names crossed off the map instead.”

“...show me.”

“What?”

“We’re close, right?” the prince prompted, shrugging out from under the blanket and taking to his feet. “We don’t even need to wake the camp, we could just go and see it ourselves.”

“See _what?”_ Robin repeated. “There’s nothing _there_ anymore but ruins, supposing the sand hasn’t buried it all…”

“I know,” Chrom replied. “That’s what I need to see.”

The sovereign stared at him for a moment as the words sank in. The silence stretched while he waited, a stillness broken only by the occasional snore from someone sleeping nearby…

Breathing a quiet sigh, the young man carefully refolded the map and tucked it away in his coat. “It would be best if we ride: it may be close, but it’s not so close that we can make the journey on foot and be back before we’re missed.”

Slipping through the dark with the moon for light, they worked together to ready Amber for the ride, Chrom seeing to her blanket and saddle while Robin hushed her curious whickers and tended her bridle. They were off in what felt like a matter of minutes, pacing through the sand until the low-burning fires around the waypoint camp were little more than embers in the dark -- and only then did the young man touch his heels to the mare’s sides and coax her into a swift trot that kicked up a shimmering wake behind them. The prince turned his gaze up toward the dark sky, trying to pick out a few of the constellations Robin had shown him during their evening conversations...and, as though sensing it, the young man lifted his hand and traced paths through the stars, speaking softly to keep the quiet of the desert night at bay. 

In little enough time, something rose out of the dark, glowing against the silvered sands. “You’re certain this is what you want?” the sovereign asked, glancing over his shoulder...and when Chrom nodded, he breathed another sigh, slowing Amber’s pace to a walk as they approached the ruined walls. 

They dismounted just outside the gate, its arch crumbled and mostly buried -- though the prince still managed to stumble over one of the stones, his attention focused on the charred and gutted buildings beyond. “Have you ever been here before?” Chrom asked, desperate to break the stillness as they walked between the remains of homes. 

“No,” Robin whispered. “Not this one, at least. When I was much younger, I saw my uncle’s village -- where he and my mother were born -- before it was restored. They evacuated shortly before the war reached them, and arrived in the capital as refugees, so...we saw it together. My first time seeing my mother’s childhood home, and it was little different from this…”

Reaching out, the prince took the young man’s hand, squeezing his fingers comfortingly. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to upset you…”

Robin offered a slight smile, returning the pressure. “It’s alright. It’s...sometimes I find it hard to believe the war ended so long ago. The memory of it still cuts deep, and scars like this remain…”

Their steps carried them on, from the remnants of homes to the ruins of shops, kilns, forges, their final works long ago lost to time or looters; from there, they walked the edges of what looked to be farming plots, the land long gone fallow and irrigation channels flooded with sand. “What would it take to restore a place like this?” Chrom asked. 

“...I don’t know,” the sovereign admitted. “Resources. Manpower. Time. Things in short supply here in the desert. Rebuilding the homes and other structures is one thing -- we might be able to transport building materials from the west, and there are people enough in the capital who may be willing to help, but time is never on our side in the sands. Water might be a concern, until the well can be re-established, and the land...I don’t know if it was simply burned and abandoned or if the army salted it before they left it all to rot. If they did, I wouldn’t know how to fix it.”

No wonder so many village names had been struck from the map. Tightening his grip on Robin’s hand, the prince felt his trembling fingers return the pressure, wishing there was something more he could do beyond imparting such small comforts. 

They continued on, the silence broken only by the sound of their steps on the sand-dusted stone paths. The fields gave way to what had once been stables and animal pens, and from there to a low brick wall, partly destroyed by what he could only guess was a hammer blow, and beyond that…

The sovereign’s breath caught. 

Chrom might have asked what was wrong, if he weren’t enraptured by the lush garden before them. In the middle of a desert, sand as far as the eye could see, there were trees, scrub, fern-like fronds and scattered flowers of all kinds ringing a great dark stone buried at the heart of the space. Even under the pale moon, the shadows seemed more green than grey, and when he reached out to make sure that what he saw was real the leaves felt cool to the touch. 

“I can’t believe it,” Robin breathed, picking his way forward with the prince barely a step behind. “It survived.”

 _“How?”_ Chrom gaped. “What -- what _is_ all this?”

“It’s the cemetery.” 

He stopped, looking frantically down through the foliage. “What!? I’m not -- I’m not walking on someone’s grave, am I?”

“You are,” Robin replied calmly. 

“Oh, gods, I’m so sorry--”

To his surprise, the young man laughed, something warm and soft that made his heart feel strangely full. “No need for that. You can come,” he smiled, beckoning for the prince to join him. “Don’t worry -- you’re causing no offense.”

He wasn’t entirely sure how that was possible. But he hesitantly picked his way over to where Robin stood, his hand resting lightly on the blackened boulder rising up toward the night sky. “How did all this end up in your cemetery?” he ventured. 

“It was always here,” Robin replied. “In every village, every city, there’s at least one much like it. It’s part of our faith -- part of what’s kept us for so long -- that death is not an end to all, but the beginning of something new. It’s said that after His Fall, Grima became the Shadow of the World, absent in body but with us in spirit through the shadows at our heels; and when we die and are laid to rest in the presence of His Bones, our souls go into Grima’s Embrace. And just as His Bones have sheltered us long after His Fall, allowing our lives to take root and thrive, we lay our dead to rest in the earth, that they might foster new life, in turn. These places hold the memories of our loved ones gone before us, and are carefully tended -- but after this long...I never thought this would have lived on, with no one to care for it…”

As he walked along at the sovereign’s side, a quiet splash caught his attention. Looking down...he realized that there were shallow canals ringing the boulder, a shallow trickle of water seeping through each one. “There are irrigation channels here, too? Where’s the water even coming from?”

“The mountains,” Robin replied, looking out toward the east where their silhouettes blotted out the stars. “Water flows through underground channels all through the desert: they supply every village.”

“How did you find the streams underground?” Chrom asked. “Was there an oasis here originally, or…”

“Oh, no,” the young man chuckled. “We built them. Some are more than a thousand years old -- many were dug, or at least begun, while Grima still filled our skies. They must have escaped the destruction because they couldn’t be burned...”

The prince stared out at the distant peaks, darker than the sky behind them, grappling with the monumental effort that must have gone into carving even one tunnel from there to where he stood. Shaking his head to clear it, he paced around the stone again, looking between the greenery around them and the empty fields beyond the wall. “...there’s water here,” he ventured. “Do you think it might still be out there, too? The well, the farm plots…”

“...it’s possible,” Robin agreed. “If it’s here, then…”

“You could restore it. You would just need resources, manpower, and time. Right?”

The sovereign nodded. Slowly at first, but with increasing vigor. “Yes. If the land can be restored, and the well is safe, then…we could. We could reclaim it, give people back their homes and their families...”

“Hope is a garden in the desert,” Chrom murmured, grinning when the young man turned toward him. “Right?”

“...exactly right,” he beamed. And when the prince reached for his hand, Robin caught it and held fast. 

\-----

Chrom didn’t recognize the waypoint where he’d spent his first night in Plegia by sight when they arrived. But he didn’t need the map to tell him where they were, either. It was all too clear from the time the sun rose that their last day had arrived, from the waypoint stores left nearly drained after the party gathered fresh supplies to the smiles that couldn’t reach the corners of Robin’s eyes. Breakfast between them was quieter than he’d grown used to, and though the rest of the group seemed to be in high spirits, all he felt was dread at the thought of their inevitable parting. 

Mounting up behind the sovereign, the prince held tight long before they set out, knowing it would be the final time they would be so close and wishing that something would delay them: a landslide to clear in the valley, perhaps, or animals blocking the narrow paths down to the canyon...but whatever favor the gods had shown him in the months before was gone, and they arrived at the clifftop leading to the Border Pass shortly after midday. Once the horses picked their way down into the valley, the Plegians passed off waterskins and foodstuffs to the Ylissean party, wishing them a safe journey back through the mountains beyond...and when their party at last divided between east and west, only a handful remained at the center to speak their goodbyes. 

Sumia edged forward, looking shyly at Plegia’s sovereign. “I’m going to miss you,” she murmured. “Thank you so much for everything -- I’m so happy we got to meet you, and...um...I-I know I’m not a princess, or a noble, b-but...would it still be okay to give you a hug goodbye?”

Robin smiled, his eyes crinkling faintly at the corners. “I would be glad for it,” he agreed, opening his arms -- and she wasted no time, flinging herself at him in an embrace that almost knocked the both of them to the ground. “I’ll miss you, too, Sumia. And I promise, if I find another translated scroll I’ll send it for you.”

She pulled back after a long moment, scrubbing fitfully at her eyes. “Take care, alright? I hope we can visit again sometime.”

“I hope for the same -- I would be overjoyed to have you come again,” he murmured. “Take care, Sumia. And thank you for everything.”

As the pegasus knight stepped back, Sully moved to take her place, offering her hand. “I’m gonna miss ya,” she mumbled -- and when he clasped her wrist, she pulled him in for a hug that crushed the air audibly from him. “You take care of yourself, okay? See if you can sneak out to visit sometime -- we’d love to have ya.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he chuckled, patting her shoulder when she finally let him go.

And when she stepped back to stand at Sumia’s side, only the prince and the sovereign remained. 

“The last matter to finalize is the treaty, yes?” Robin ventured, withdrawing the scroll from beneath his coat. “My advisors and yours have come to an agreement on the terms outlined here, and I am in full agreement with them: if you are satisfied with your review, then I will sign this and return it so that you might deliver it to your sister.”

Taking it in hand, Chrom unrolled the parchment, scanning through the precise script marching down the page. Trying to make sense of it made his head spin, but he still picked out the key points: trade agreements, pricing of goods for exchange, alliance terms…

“Something’s missing.”

The sovereign stiffened, peering over the top of the document. “I was certain that was the final copy -- one moment...oh, where did I put that…” he muttered, beginning to riffle through his hidden pockets. 

“No -- no, no, it’s not the wrong copy,” the prince assured him, reaching out to touch his shoulder, “it’s...something was missing from the talks. And if it wasn’t there, it can’t be here.” Reaching into his satchel, he removed a letter sealed with green wax bearing Naga’s Brand and offered it to the young man. “Here. This should be the last item.”

Robin took it curiously, breaking open the seal and reading the message Chrom had watched his sister write months before. “...reparations?” the sovereign breathed, turning a wondering stare on the prince. 

“She took stock of everything Ylisse had, and this is what we can give now. No negotiations: it’s just what it should be. And I’ll see what I can do about securing more, once I go back. All you need to do is sign.”

Robin’s hand shook when he pulled the quill and ink from his coat. Holding the parchment as steadily as he could, he added his signature beneath Emmeryn’s own, and when he offered it back Chrom exchanged it with the scroll. “Everything else is in order, I think. And I’ll make sure it all gets back to Emmeryn.”

“Thank you,” the sovereign beamed, carefully undersigning the terms and allowing them a moment to dry before rolling the document again and fastening it with a gold band. “I’m glad you accepted our invitation, Prince Chrom, and I hope that this will bring about a true and enduring peace for both our nations.”

“As do I,” he murmured. “I’ll do all I can to see Ylisse changed, so that it can be a true and equal peace. And I hope…” The words lodged in his throat for a moment, and he swallowed them back, praying his voice would not betray him. “...I hope I can see you again someday.”

“May that day come soon,” Robin smiled, his eyes shining as he opened his arms...and regardless of what he might have intended from the gesture, Chrom stepped forward and pulled him into a tight embrace, feeling the young man’s arms curl around him and hold fast. “I’ll miss you,” he breathed. 

“I’ll miss you, too,” the prince whispered, the words muffled in Robin’s shoulder. They held like that for a long time -- perhaps too long, though Chrom hardly cared, knowing it was the last moment they had and desperate to make it last even one more instant…

The sovereign shifted, very slightly. And with a heavy heart, the prince released him, stepping back to join Sully and Sumia on the Ylissean side of the pass. “Take care, Prince Chrom,” Robin called. “Have a safe journey home, and may you remain in good spirits and good health until next we’re able to meet.”

“And to you,” Chrom replied thickly. He watched Robin and his entourage mount their horses and make their way up onto the cliffs, disappearing from view one by one -- but as he reached the top of the rise, the young sovereign turned back, lifting his arm in a final parting wave. Raising his own hand high, the prince returned it, watching a smile break across Robin’s face…

And then he disappeared, leaving the canyon as quiet as the spring day when Chrom had first set foot there. 


	7. Thank You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back home in Ylisse, Chrom often finds himself thinking fondly of his time in Plegia. Most of all, he finds himself missing Robin...until a message arrives unexpectedly from beyond the halidom's borders. 
> 
> And just as it began, it all ends with a letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a little longer than expected, but hopefully the wait will have been worth it. I have a major soft spot for letter exchange -- to the point that I have a custom work skin for my fics that involve them. There's a lot of it here, so if you're seeing font in different sizes but with no change of style, it likely means that there's an issue finding the font (which is problematic especially on mobile). For the best reading experience, you'll want some combination of Lucida Handwriting/Satisfy, French Script/Kaushan Script, and Edwardian Script/Dancing Script. 
> 
> As usual, asterisks (*) indicate a change of perspective. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy the end!

The moment Chrom set foot in Ylisstol Castle, Emm pulled him into a tight embrace, on the verge of tears as she welcomed him back. From there, she asked about his health, how the journey had treated him, whether he’d enjoyed himself or been homesick for them...and over a private dinner -- just the three siblings, as it had always been when he returned from a long journey -- she’d asked about Plegia, hanging on his every word while he tried to relate all the things he’d learned. He kept missing Robin as he fumbled his way through explanations that the Plegian sovereign had described with ease, wishing that he could have brought the young man along to meet with Emm and tell her all this far better than he could...but just as he’d been the Exalt’s proxy in Plegia, and tried his best to do what she would have; he now sat as the sovereign’s proxy in Ylisse, and described everything he’d seen and heard and experienced as best he could.

The biggest difficulty he’d faced so far had been seeing the two would-be-assassins fairly tried. There had been dissent from the council when the prince proposed they be punished as befit an attack on the Exalt, insisting that the guardsmen must have acted in what they believed was Chrom’s best interests -- but Emmeryn had stood fast beside him, demanding the magistery address the crime with the same gravity as a crime against her person. From there, it just became a matter of time...though, with as backlogged as the court seemed to be, the wait soon began to feel endless. 

A month after returning to Ylisstol, and he still felt listless on the best of days. He wasn’t bored -- it had been great to catch up with the rest of the Shepherds again after being gone nearly half the year, and according to the reports coming in there was more than enough going on around the halidom to keep him occupied if he needed something different to do...but every day when the church bells woke him, he felt a pang of loneliness; and every morning when he went down to a breakfast of porridge and eggs and sausage, he felt strangely disappointed by what had once been some of his preferred fare. It wasn’t so much that something was missing (though there was, and even he couldn’t deny it anymore)...but that he wanted to be somewhere else, and had no way to return. 

So he tried to distract himself as best he could. It had been a long time since he’d trained with a blade, and he felt rusty the first time he swung his practice sword around...but within a few days, the movements came easier, and soon enough he fell back into a pattern as familiar as breathing. Pacing around the ring now, he fixed his gaze on the stick attached to the training dummy he faced, tightening his grip on his blunted blade before charging in for a swing--

“Captain Chrom!”

The call brought his gaze skyward, and his sword with it, neatly decapitating the dummy. He’d be hearing about that from Frederick, he was sure -- but any dread he might have felt evaporated as he watched Sumia spiral in for a landing, sliding neatly from her pegasus’ saddle and practically skipping across the training ground. “You seem in high spirits,” he chuckled, letting the sword settle by his side. “Weren’t you on patrol?”

“I was! And while I was by the Border Pass, I met a friend,” she giggled, digging through her satchel and removing a gold-capped scroll. “This one’s for me, and _this_ I was told to give straight to you.”

He took the folded piece of parchment she offered, turning it over to see the six-eyed mark stamped into the violet wax of the seal -- and without wasting another second he broke it open, unfolding it and eagerly scanning the familiar script: 

Dear Chrom,

I hope this letter finds you in good spirits and good health, and that your return home was safe and calm. My party only just arrived back in the capital a few days ago, and already there is talk of going out again at the first opportunity: my advisors think it wise to conduct a ‘Tour of Plegia’ since the extended negotiations have kept me long secluded from my normal duties as sovereign. I, for one, would very much like a few days to relax before setting out, as I think Sully’s parting embrace may have cracked a rib (though I am touched that she considers me worthy of such affection now). 

The return trip was uneventful and we made very good time by all accounts, though I quite missed having your company along the way. Our conversations made the journey pleasant, and Henry’s chatter, while entertaining enough, is a poor substitute. You may also be pleased to hear, since you expressed some concern before we left, that my mother is impressed with how I’ve been healing; she also sends her regards and hopes that you might visit again in the future, should another diplomatic conference be arranged. 

I hope you will forgive the brevity of this message, but I wished to write you as soon as possible when I arrived at home, despite having little of import or interest yet to relate. I hope that you are well, and that I might hear back from you should you wish to reply. 

Yours in Friendship,

Robin

“Well?” Sumia asked excitedly. “What did he say?”

“He made it home safe,” the prince replied, smiling to himself as he read the letter again. “They want to send him back out on a tour of Plegia, though -- sounds like our Shepherd missions when things get busy. And…”

The pegasus knight looked at him curiously as he folded the parchment. He’d never been much of a writer -- he’d lost any joy for it when the lessons to improve his script resulted in his knuckles bruising from how often they were rapped -- but for Robin… “When do you think you’ll be leaving again?” he asked. 

“Not for at least a few days, probably. Why do you ask?” 

“Let me know before you head out,” he grinned. “I might have something for you to deliver.”

***

To Robin’s relief, the Tour of Plegia his advisors had proposed did not get underway immediately. There were routes to prepare, and announcements to make, and all manner of other minutiae that he thankfully did not have to worry about immediately. Instead, he found himself once more with _freedom,_ and after so much time under his father’s anxious watch, he chose not to waste a moment. 

With the Ylissean delegation gone, he found himself falling back into old routines and habits: falling asleep as the sky began to lighten, waking in the late afternoon to attend his duties as sovereign -- primarily legislative matters, the occasional question of opinion on legal precedent, drafting and redrafting declarations and speeches to be delivered -- and escaping after sunset to wander the city, visiting academic institutions and entertainers both to enjoy the products of their labor and love. 

And yet...there was something missing. Even with Henry and Tharja ever at his flanks, there was a loneliness in his wanderings now that he had never before experienced...and more often than not, he found himself wondering how the prince of Ylisse fared with his own duties back home, and whether he missed their explorations as much as Robin himself did. 

Making his way back to the palace somewhat earlier than usual with an assortment of scrolls -- some newly purchased for his personal collections, though he’d chanced across two more translations of his favorite tales that he eagerly anticipated sending to Sumia -- he paused at the familiar call of a wyvern overhead. Odd, for riders to be announcing their landing...and curiosity got the better of him, as it so often did: tucking his prizes more securely under his arm, he struck off with Henry and Tharja close behind, watching the shadows spiral down against the starry sky. 

“Welcome back,” he called, approaching the landing site outside the rookery. “I hope you had a safe journey.”

“Indeed, My Fell,” Orton’s voice replied -- and his usual frustrated resignation warred with a surge of excitement as the man dismounted and strode out to meet them. “We saw a sandstorm brewing on the way, but it was easy enough to change course to avoid it, and it only delayed us a few hours.”

“I’m very pleased to hear it. Were you able to deliver the items I gave you?” Robin asked. 

“Indeed,” the wyvern rider grinned. “I offered your regards and the scroll both to the lovely pegasus knight, and instructed her to pass the letter on. And before returning, we made our routine flyover of the Border Pass, and she met us again -- I was provided with instructions to see this into your hands.”

The parchment seemed to glow under the starlight when the man held it out to him. “Thank you, Orton,” he said automatically, taking the letter in his free hand. “Rest well; we can discuss more tomorrow, once you’ve had a chance to settle from the trip.”

“Of course, My Fell,” he bowed. “I look forward to it.”

Offering a slight wave, the sovereign turned and made his way back to the castle, struggling to keep his stride even when all he wanted to do was run to his quarters. But he had appearances to maintain, and far too many eyes on him: best to be as discreet as he could manage. 

Winding his way through the palace, he moved into his family suite, calling a greeting to his parents even as he retreated into his room. He took the time to set aside the two gifts he’d purchased before unceremoniously dropping the rest on the far side of his bed and turning the whole of his attention to the letter -- which, unlike the last message he’d received from Ylisse, bore a blue wax seal, though the stamp still showed Naga’s Brand. Holding his breath, he broke it open, turning it into the light and reading the words penned in a neat, unfamiliar hand: 

Dear Robin, 

I hope this letter finds you well. I don’t usually write much more than short messages, so I’m sorry if this reads badly, but I wanted to reply and let you know how things have been. 

The trip back to Ylisstol was uneventful. The mountain trails in Ylisse seemed easy after going through the Plegian side of the Pass twice, and we made good time getting back home. Emm wanted to know right away how it all went, and I’ve been doing my best to tell her everything I can remember, though I can’t explain things as well as you do. I wish you could have come with me, but maybe someday you’ll be able to meet and talk together and clear up anything I might have gotten wrong. Hopefully there won’t be too much. 

The two guardsmen are set to be tried before the magistery court as soon as possible, though I don’t know what that means since there are a bunch of cases in the docket that need to be handled first. My little sister’s best friend wants to be a magister, so she’s taken on the case for us. Knowing her, it’ll all work out, and both of those men will be locked away for a long time. 

With the harvest getting underway through the halidom, the Shepherds have been busy lately, but I haven’t gone too far from Ylisstol yet since I want to be here when the case goes before the magistery. I miss going into the city with you. It’s not the same doing it on my own here. Someday I hope you can visit and I can show you Ylisstol. It would be nice to take you around next time. 

I could use a lot more practice writing letters, so I hope to hear from you again soon. 

Best Regards,

Chrom

PS: Sorry about Sully’s hugs. I promise she meant well.

He sat down on the edge of his bed, smiling as he read through the letter a second time. He’d been unsure if the prince would reply at all, but...the words on the page made his chest feel warm and full and left him nearly as breathless as Sully’s embrace had. 

Tapping his fingers lightly on the back of the parchment, he ran through a few rapid calculations. Orton would need at least a few days to rest after the flight from the border, not to mention any other duties he might need to tend before he left...which gave Robin a bit of time. And rather than join his parents in their common room again, he flopped back into his pillows, tilting the letter back into the light to peruse it once more, smiling with every word he read. 

***

Chrom was beginning to have trouble hiding his anticipation. Every time a shadow passed over, he dropped everything, scanning the skies for pegasus knights -- though usually it was just a bird fluttering by (and on one particularly embarrassing occasion, a stray cloud). And he really should have known better: a trip to the border, even flying, took several days, and a normal round trip for a letter took well over a fortnight when they weren’t pushing their fliers to their limits. There was no possible way that Sumia could be back with a reply yet.

But that didn’t stop him from jumping at every flutter of wings. 

Distracting himself got harder when he had something to look forward to. Between waiting for the magistery court date and watching for pegasi, he wondered if he would go mad from the strain. Even the offers to join an autumn hunt -- something he had leapt at every year prior -- did nothing to catch his interest this time. From the way Frederick had begun fussing at him every hour, he clearly thought the prince was at death’s door. But he endured it...more or less well, depending on the day, counting the sunrises and keeping an eye on the skies as the weeks went by. 

“Milord, please, I must insist that you at least don a scarf if you intend to go out training in this weather.”

“It’s not even cold!” Chrom protested. “And a scarf would only get in the way for sword drills.”

“And yet your behavior of late has been most concerning -- you need to take care with your health, and should you catch cold for not wearing adequate layers--”

“I’m back!”

Whatever else the great knight had intended to say, the prince didn’t hear a word: Sumia commanded the whole of his attention as she entered the grand foyer of Ylisstol Castle, remembering to salute only when Frederick gave her a pointed look. 

“Welcome home,” Chrom beamed. “How was your patrol? Anything out of the ordinary?”

“Uh...n-nope -- I-I mean, no, sir,” she replied, fidgeting slightly under the great knight’s stare.

As Frederick drew a breath to press, the prince lay a hand on her shoulder, turning her back toward the steps. “You’ve been gone a while -- have you said hi to Sully yet?”

“O-oh, no, I wanted to report in first--”

“She’s been missing you,” Chrom winked. 

The pegasus knight’s face went rosy pink. “S-she has?”

“She’s been kicking my ass in training drills non-stop for the past three days,” he sighed. “She’s been trying to distract herself from wondering when you’ll get back. Come on, I’ll take you down -- I was just headed that way myself.”

“Thank you, Captain,” she giggled. Ignoring the great knight’s protests, they made their way out of the main hall and into the courtyard...and when they glanced back to be sure they hadn’t been followed, Sumia blew out a shaky sigh. “I-I appreciate the save -- he gets me so nervous anymore…”

“I don’t blame you,” the prince muttered. “But you’re in the clear now. ...Sully really has been missing you, though. And kicking my ass. I have the bruises to prove it.” Pointing out a particularly livid one just below his Brand, he grinned when she tried to hide a smile behind her hand. “So should I take it there _was_ something out of the ordinary at the Pass?”

“Sir Orton met me again! With _two_ scrolls this time!” She pulled them out of her satchel, hugging them tight. “I’m almost done with the first one already -- I started reading it on the way back during our rest stops, and it’s so good!” Coming back into the present, she blushed again, digging through the bag and removing a folded piece of parchment. “A-and this one’s for you! I was told to see it straight to your hands, so...well, here you go!”

“Thanks, Sumia,” he beamed. “Oh, and you might want to turn around.”

The pegasus knight jumped, whirling so fast that her feet nearly went out from under her -- but before she could fall, Sully grabbed her up and spun her around, their laughter ringing through quiet grounds. 

“You two have fun,” he chuckled. “Stop by before you head out again, okay Sumia?”

“Of course, Captain,” she nodded, her boots still a foot off the ground and her arms wrapped around the cavalier’s shoulders. With a parting wave, Chrom made his way into the gardens, noting the occasional splash of yellow and orange in the canopy shading the path; checking the six-eyed seal in the violet wax, he broke it open and began to read long before finding a seat:

Dear Chrom,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and good spirits, and please know that your message certainly raised the latter for me; as to the former, my mother is very pleased with my recovery, and has conditionally approved the Tour my advisors are now planning. The preparations are taking rather longer than anticipated, which means I still have time to catch up on my duties before worrying about another trip.

I’m relieved to hear that the guardsmen will be tried fairly for their crimes, and I hope that your magistery will be able to hear the case soon; however, a question occurred to me recently: what of their families? Do they have spouses, children, or parents who rely upon them? And if so, are they being cared for, either by other relatives or friends? If feasible, I would gladly offer a stipend to provide for their needs, rather than see them struggle and suffer for actions they had no say nor part in. 

As to Sully, you have no need to apologize on her behalf. In truth, her parting gesture was quite touching, and my one regret is that I never was able to prepare the introduction I promised her regarding wyverns. Perhaps in the future we could organize an exchange of sorts, where our mounted fliers have a chance to train under experts with other mounts. I imagine Sully will have little trouble learning how to handle a wyvern, since her horse seems a fair equine approximation of one; and my father’s apprentice has expressed interest in learning to ride a pegasus, though we sadly have very few of them here in Plegia, and therefore no formal training program to aid her. 

I have resumed my explorations of the city in the past few days, and have greatly enjoyed returning to this particular habit. I do miss having you with me on my wanderings, though, as sharing my favorite places with you made even the familiar feel entirely new once more. I hope that someday we can have an opportunity to do so again, either in your homeland or mine, and perhaps even make a date of it. 

Earnestly Yours,

Robin

He was smiling so hard by the end that his face began to ache. But he couldn’t seem to stop as he read the final passage over and over again. He’d been excited by the prospect of taking Robin around Ylisstol -- the thought of taking him on a _date_ here kindled something warm and bright in his heart. 

Sumia wouldn’t be heading out again for a few more days. But that didn’t stop him from rising and heading for his room, eager to ensure that his reply was ready for her return trip.

***

Aside from the diplomatic duties he had neglected during the long negotiations, Robin had also let his training regimens slip over the months spent with the Ylissean company. This was not so much an issue with his horsemanship, as proven by his deft handling with Amber; nor with his thunder magic, though his wind control was a bit rougher around the edges than he recalled; but when it came to dark magic and hexcraft, the lapse was terribly clear. He hadn’t known he could grow _worse_ at something he was already bad at, but Henry’s manic laughter when his array exploded in turquoise smoke was an all new and worrisome development. 

It was likely for the best that he had two dark mages in his retinue, otherwise he would have no hope in the face of an unlucky curse. 

But he tried all the same, seeking out simple recipes and frequenting the apothecaries in the city for ingredients in hopes that he might someday succeed, even if it meant singeing his eyebrows off a few times in the process. And, truthfully, it gave him something to focus on that didn’t involve watching the horizon for wyverns. He had done more than enough of that in recent days. 

He knew the patrol routes well enough by now, the waypoints they assessed and resupplied, the forts they used as resting points, and he traced the path out on his map in the early hours before he settled to sleep, gauging where the riders might be on any given day. Arguably, they should have been home already: it had been nearly a month now since they set out...which likely meant that they’d encountered some kind of trouble on their flight path. Perhaps a route blockage that would require support from the southern outpost, since patrol fliers were hardly equipped for the task...but he worried all the same, and prayed they would arrive soon and safely. 

The call of dragons beyond the castle walls wrenched him from a sound sleep around midday, and he paused only long enough to don clothes before hurrying out to greet them. By the time he made it out of the castle, they had already landed and retreated to the caves below -- but ten steps in he saw their captain affectionately rubbing his mount’s horns, and the rush of relief that went through him nearly sent him stumbling into the wall. “I’m happy to see you back,” he called. 

Orton looked up with a smile. “Good day, My Fell. I hadn’t expected you so early.”

“Must you call me that?” Robin sighed. 

“No,” the man grinned. 

“...but you won’t stop, will you.”

“Not at all, My Fell.” 

The sovereign closed his eyes in fond resignation. “I was beginning to worry. Your patrol is several days later than I had expected.”

“Foul weather in the mountains,” the man replied. “The cold is beginning to set in, and several days’ worth of thunderstorms flooded the valley and the Pass. Poor enough weather for flying, but a few unlucky travelers got trapped in it. We managed to rescue them and at least some of their belongings, but the wyverns needed a few extra days to rest after.”

“They seem to have recovered well,” Robin crooned, stroking the wyvern under her chin and feeling her thrum in pleasure. 

“I’m pleased with it, too,” Orton chuckled. “But I’ll be giving her a few extra days to bake her scales, just to be sure.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” the sovereign agreed. “Aside from the flooding, was there anything of note on your patrol?”

The wyvern rider grinned, reaching into the dragon’s saddle bag. “We may have delayed an extra day or two at the Border Pass after the rain stopped. Seems the rains bother pegasi even more than they do wyverns -- must be the feathers -- but a certain lovely pegasus knight bade me give you these.”

Blinking in surprise, Robin accepted both the letter he had been hoping for...as well as a leather-bound book with gold leaf embossed on the covers. “What’s this?”

“How should I know? I didn’t read it,” Orton laughed. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to see my lady spoiled after her trip.”

“Of course -- don’t let me keep you,” the sovereign smiled, giving the wyvern a final fond pat before turning and making his way back to the palace and up to his rooms. At this hour, his mother was likely busy at work, and his father would be sleeping...so as he shouldered his way into the suite, he flopped out into the cushions piled in the common room, leafed through the book...and, on finding another letter tucked within the pages, set it briefly aside to tend to the first message sealed in blue wax instead, breaking it open without hesitation and reading through the lines of script: 

Dear Robin,

I hope this letter finds you well. I’m glad to hear you’re doing better, and maybe by the time this gets to you you’ll be entirely back to normal. As for me, Sully’s been using me as a punching bag to distract herself while Sumia’s out on patrol, and my little sister’s getting pretty tired of patching me up afterward. I don’t mind too much, though, since trying not to get my ass handed to me makes for a pretty good workout. 

To your question about the guardsmen, I don’t know the answer myself. I asked Emm about it, though, and she promised to have someone look into it. Your offer to provide funds for their needs is an exceptionally kind one, and she asked me to relay her gratitude for it. Once I know more I’m sure we can work something out. We finally have a court date now, too, about a fortnight out: by the time you get this, we may be in the thick of it, so wish us luck. 

When I told Sully about your flier exchange idea, she was surprised you remembered at all. I think she forgot herself. But she was excited by the idea, too, and when I asked the captain of the Pegasus Knights she seemed open to it. Maybe come spring we can have a trade at the border. Better yet, maybe you can come along and see Ylisse as part of it. 

The harvest is well under way now, and the gardens look a little less green every day. Once the fall change starts in earnest, the view from the top of Ylisstol Castle is something to see, since it overlooks all the farmland and forest. At the height of the change, it almost looks like the trees are on fire when the wind blows. I think you’d really like it. The view of the gardens out the window isn’t bad, though, and the leaves are starting to turn bright yellow in places. Sumia knows a lot about flowers, so I’ll ask before she heads out again if she can teach me how to press some to send to you.

Kindest Regards,

Chrom

It was for the best that his parents were not present. He wouldn’t have wanted either one of them to walk in on him as he read the letter a second time: his father would likely think him ill for the flush in his face, and his mother would undoubtedly give him that all-knowing grin she wore whenever the prince came up in conversation. He could certainly do without either.

Smiling to himself, Robin folded the letter again, gently fitting the broken seal back into something close to its original shape; setting it aside, he turned back to the book and the message it contained, the plain wax bearing no stamp but smelling curiously of lilacs…

Despite himself, though, his gaze kept drifting back to the letter with its cobalt blue seal, so close an approximation of Chrom’s eyes that it left his heart feeling warm and full and all the more relieved to be alone. 

***

Chrom had never much believed in miracles before, but he would be the first to say that Maribelle had made one happen. 

The magistery court had balked at first when the charges and proposed punishment were announced, the overseeing judge going so far as to claim there was no crime at all in what he read. Maribelle took such offense to his remarks that she berated him, colorfully and _viciously,_ in front of the entire court: magisters, clerks, and onlookers all -- not to mention the prince and Exalt of Ylisse. She went so far as to question and even malign his nobility, something that Chrom feared would send him into a fit of rage...but she cut him off before he could get even the first word out, declaring that any man who considered such an attack on another just simply for the place of their birth was nothing more than a cur in bespoke cloth. 

It had made them all sit up a little straighter. 

With every speech she made, she did not so much implore as _order_ the court to imagine that Her Grace had been the target. At every turn she tore apart the other magister’s arguments, demanding _justice_ be done rather than sweeping such a dire crime aside because the target hailed from Plegia. And in her final remarks, she swore that their choice would prove their nature: noble in heart and spirit...or noble in name only. 

The court deliberated. And Chrom waited, barely able to keep himself from pacing (and only then because Maribelle tutted at him whenever he started), fearing every moment that they would return and find the men innocent in the eyes of the law…

But when they returned their verdict, it was everything the prince might have hoped for. Charged with attempted assassination, found guilty of the crime, and sentenced to imprisonment as befit the offense. 

As she always did, Emmeryn offered the men a pardon if they felt remorse. And as ever, they swore they did...until she asked what it was they regretted: the act itself, or being caught in it.

They did not answer. 

As they were led away in irons, Chrom turned a wondering smile on Maribelle. “That was _amazing.”_

“Oh, pish-tosh,” she replied, fluffing her ringlets. “I was merely doing what was right and proper.” 

Walking out into the late autumn sunshine, the prince breathed in the crisp, cool air, feeling truly at ease for the first time in the months since his return to Ylisse. The matter with the guardsmen had been settled, the harvest was nearly done, most of the Shepherds were safe and well back in Ylisstol…

“Captain!!”

His head came up at the call, a grin breaking across his face. “Sumia! When did you get back?”

The pegasus knight skipped to a stop before him, dipping into a somewhat awkward curtsy when Maribelle cleared her throat. “Late yesterday! I’d have come sooner but I heard you were tied up with the case, so I thought I should wait a bit. How did it go?”

 _“Marvellously,”_ the noblewoman supplied. “I must say, I’m very pleased with the result. What say you, Milord?”

“I couldn’t have asked for a better outcome,” he agreed. “Any news from your trip?”

Riffling through her bag, she beamed as she held out another letter with a violet wax seal. “No scrolls this time?” he teased. 

“Well, I _did_ get back last night. I already put them away,” she giggled. 

“Fair point,” Chrom admitted. “Thanks again for your help, Maribelle.” 

“Always a pleasure,” she replied with a curtsy. “Though I do hope that I might someday meet the man whose case I won.”

“I hope so, too,” the prince grinned, lifting a hand in a parting wave and making his way back toward the castle. He’d broken the seal long before he reached the gate, and despite how ill-advised it likely was, he couldn’t help but read as he walked: 

Dear Chrom,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and good spirits, and moreover warm and well with the season beginning to turn. We rarely see much more than a mild change of temperature here in the desert, so I’ve only read about the change of leaves in the halidom. In truth, I thought it was a bit of poetry, but I suppose not if you’re witnessing it now. Perhaps I shouldn’t be so surprised: I once believed the same of snow, until I visited the Khans of Regna Ferox. 

Thank you for looking into the matter of the mens’ families, and please inform Her Grace that such a gesture seems the least I can do. I bear no ill will toward their relations, nor even toward the men themselves. I take issue with their choice to attack me, to be sure, and given the choice I would not readily trust them, but by the same token I do not wish misfortune or cruelty upon them. I hope they might come to recognize their act for the crime it is, as you do; but whether they do or not, I still hope that they are punished fairly for it, as they deserve.

I also raised the issue of a flier exchange with Orton, and he seemed quite intrigued by the idea himself. My father’s apprentice, Aversa, seems somewhat more uncertain, though this is in part because she would be absent from Plegia for quite some time, and she has never been so far from home that she could not depart the capital at sundown and arrive at her family’s village by sunrise. She expressed some initial concern about being the sole Plegian among the Ylissean company, as well, but I assured her that if we were able to orchestrate such a program, she would not be the only one present, as I am quite intent on coming along, whether my father yet knows it or not. 

Planning for the tour continues apace, but I suspect now that it will not take place until after Grima’s Night. It seems fitting to me that the tour commence after the new year begins, as a means of spreading blessings across the nation: perhaps a visit from Grima’s Heart will lift their spirits and raise their hopes for the year ahead. Perhaps it is a bit much to hope for, but I myself hope that we might meet again in the coming year. 

Truly Yours,

Robin

Chrom nearly ran into the wall next to the castle gate, as engrossed as he was in the letter he held; on top of that, he practically tripped when he stumbled hastily back toward the road, and he could only _pray_ that no one had seen his series of very near mishaps. Hurrying over to the castle steps, he took a seat near the bottom, reading through the message a second time, then a third, smiling every time he reached the closing.

He had a great deal to tell Robin in his next letter. But for now, he was content to keep the words before him close, and let them warm him through until the next arrived. 

***

Robin breathed a silent sigh, holding his arms up and out from his sides while a trio of tailors made minute adjustments to the fit of his robe. The ceremonial garments from the Day of Remembrance had, sadly, been tattered beyond repair, and though most of the stones and thread had been salvaged, a new robe was necessary -- especially given the celebration swiftly approaching. 

Fittings were endlessly tiring affairs, and it took every ounce of his patience to remain still for their work, pinning and hemming and adding hidden seams to perfect how it lay. And this, he knew, was not even the last of these affairs: there would be at least one more, after the edges were finished and the final embroidery complete...though he hoped that would be a less tedious affair, even if it would require all the jewelry be in place. 

“Did we ever find the headpiece?” he asked, aching for something to break the monotony of his own stillness. 

“It was quite badly damaged,” his father replied from somewhere behind him, his voice passing back and forth while he paced. “It has been restored, but we will need to have it checked for a proper fit before Grima’s Night.”

“Of course,” Robin sighed. Hopefully that would be a painless adjustment: he’d suffered more than enough pinpricks tonight in silence…

A knock came at the arch. “Who comes?” the hierophant called. 

“It’s only me,” his mother’s voice answered. “Though I have a guest.”

“Can that wait?” his father asked. “We are in the middle of an important affair.”

“Would you really be so rude as to leave me standing outside my own door?” she huffed. “Not to mention that the captain of our wyvern riders is here with me…”

“Orton is here?” 

He twitched despite himself, sending one of the tailors fluttering to fix a pin disturbed by the movement. Footsteps moved behind him, but he did not dare turn for fear of upsetting something else and dragging this out longer than it had already been. “How goes?” his mother giggled. 

“It proceeds apace,” Robin murmured, fighting to be patient. “Have you need of me, Captain Orton?”

“Indeed, My Fell,” the man replied, clearly _relishing_ the fact that Robin could not protest the address in his present company. “I’ve just returned from my patrol, and I have something for you.”

“What is it?” the hierophant demanded. 

“I was instructed to see it directly into the sovereign’s hands,” the wyvern rider insisted. “I will therefore see it done.”

“Has its safety been verified?” his father pressed.

“Oh, certainly,” his mother insisted, the playful note in her voice ringing of half-truths. “Are you nearly done, do you think?”

“Just another moment,” one of the artisans wheezed, running the tips of long fingers over each hem in turn. Satisfied, two of them lifted the garment from Robin’s shoulders while the third held a casual robe up for him to change into; ducking into the sleeves, he swiftly closed and tied it before turning to the wyvern rider -- who smiled as he removed a letter from his satchel and passed it into his hand. 

“What is it?” the hierophant asked. 

“A message for me,” Robin replied, tucking it out of sight before bowing to the tailors and Orton by turns. “Thank you very much for your beautiful work, and thank you for delivering this safe to my hands. I need a moment to change more suitably; please excuse me.” And without waiting for a reply, he ducked into his room, barely pausing long enough to see the blue wax seal before breaking it open and reading the words within: 

Dear Robin,

I hope this letter finds you well. Soon enough I think I’ll be missing the desert: the days are getting colder now, and the leaves are past the height of their change. The gardens are looking less colorful by the day, and by the time this letter reaches you all the trees will probably be bare. Soon enough we’ll have snow coming down, since we usually get at least a dusting before the shortest day. 

The case went before the magistery court and concluded just after your last letter arrived. My sister’s friend Maribelle, the one who took the case, was absolutely amazing. The guardsmen were found guilty and sentenced to a steep prison term, and we owe it all to her hard work. Emm gave them a chance to express remorse to lighten the punishment, but they had to regret the action rather than the fact that they were being punished. I like to think you would have approved of that gesture, even if they didn’t take the offer. Since she won the case on your behalf without ever meeting you personally, Maribelle hopes you can come visit sometime so you can be introduced properly. I’d like that, too, so I can make all those introductions. 

What is Grima’s Night like in Plegia? We actually have a children’s festival by the same name that takes place on the shortest day. It’s my little sister’s favorite because she gets buckets of candy out of it, but I’m pretty sure it’s different for you. Is it another ceremony where you have a part to play? And when does your new year begin? We honor it at the start of spring here in Ylisse, so once the first thaw is past and the land starts turning green again we say the year’s begun, and have a big feast to celebrate the end of winter. 

Winter is usually a pretty quiet time. The Shepherds might have some duties, and there will probably be a few more hunts in the early months, but aside from that, it seems like a good time to plan for spring. Working out the flier exchange might take a little time, but after the thaw, maybe we can have another meeting to hammer out the details. Even though winter’s not here yet, the new year feels like it can’t come soon enough, if it means a chance at seeing you again.

Fondest Regards,

Chrom

Robin sat down on the edge of his bed, feeling suddenly dizzy as he read over the last few lines again. He wasn’t sure what he’d been hoping for when they began trading letters, but he had never _dreamed_ that he would read those words. _‘Fondest Regards.’_ Just the sight of them made his breath catch and his heart race…

“Is everything alright?” his father called from the room beyond. 

“Y-yes,” Robin murmured -- and then, stronger, “Yes. Just a moment.” Rising unsteadily from his place, he set his robe in better order and added a scattering of habitual jewelry, turning toward the door...and, as an afterthought, folding the letter and tucking it close to his heart before moving to rejoin his family. 

***

For the first time in longer than he could remember, Chrom felt no excitement as Grima’s Night approached. He’d learned so much during his months in Plegia: how offensive was it to claim that the night was full of evil spirits summoned by the fell dragon’s power? Would hearing their divine’s name used like that cause Robin as much pain as Frederick’s blessing on the Day of Remembrance? He didn’t know. And he had no word from Robin to help him figure things out. 

Looking out the window, he could see the Ylisstol square bustling with activity as people prepared for the event: stringing up lanterns, erecting stalls for games and food, constructing platforms for musicians, purchasing candles to welcome the children that would soon fill the streets. But every now and again, his gaze drifted skyward, seeking any sign of pegasi soaring toward the castle. It had been well over a fortnight now since Sumia had left on her patrol, and with the weather growing more uncertain by the day, he was beginning to worry…

“Chrooooom,” Lissa whined, stomping her boot on the floor. “What’s the _matter_ with you?”

“Huh?” He blinked down at her, lifting his chin off his hand. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ve been spacing out all afternoon,” she huffed, rocking back on her heels and crossing her arms while Maribelle resumed fussing with the gauzy layers of fabric comprising her costume. “Come on, you’re _never_ gonna be ready in time at this rate!”

“I’m thinking about skipping it this year,” he mumbled, turning back to the window.

“No _way!!”_ she protested, grabbing his arm and hauling him up to his feet. “You’ve _gotta_ join in, I can’t go all alone!”

“You just want me to help carry your candy,” he teased. 

“Well, _yeah,_ ” she shot back. “ _Somebody’s_ gotta haul it all, and you’re a lot stronger than me!”

“What happened to not being a delicate princess?”

“Just because I’m not delicate doesn’t mean I’m an _ox!”_

Shaking his head, Chrom tousled his sister’s pigtails, laughing as she swatted his hands away. “A little less candy might do you good. You always make yourself sick trying to eat it all in one night.”

“Well I can’t _waste_ it!” she protested as he took his seat, glancing out the window again. “...are you okay?” she asked more quietly, fussing with her skirt until Maribelle shooed her hands away. 

“I’m fine,” he mumbled. 

“But you _always_ get excited about dressing up for Grima’s Night, and now you’re being all mopey and saying you’re not coming and…”

“I’ve just...got a lot on my mind,” he assured her. “I promise, I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”

She didn’t look convinced. But she did let the noblewoman shoo her into a more open spot to continue working on her dress, which he took for a good sign. Turning back toward the window...he shot to his feet, watching the pegasus spiraling down into the courtyard. “I’ll be back!” he called, bolting for the door without waiting to hear his sister’s protest. Racing down the stairs into the foyer, he took the steps leading down toward the gate two at a time, skidding slightly on the dusting of snow on the stones before coming to a stop by Sumia’s pegasus. “Welcome back!”

“It’s good to _be_ back,” she sighed, accepting the hand he offered and carefully clambering out of the saddle. “The weather’s been _terrible!_ We’re going to see a lot of snow in the next few days if the storm holds…”

“I’m glad you made it back safe, then,” he said, following along with her as she led her mount toward the stables. “You look like you could use a warm meal and a hot bath.”

“Yes, please,” she laughed. 

“I’ll see that started for you, then,” he grinned, turning to leave--

“O-oh, wait! Before you go…” He turned back, watching with growing anticipation as she dug through her saddlebags and produced another letter. “I took extra good care of it,” she promised, holding it out to him. 

“I know you did,” he smiled. “Thanks, Sumia; I’ll make sure there’s water drawn up in the garrison for you, and dinner should be ready by the time you’re out.”

“Thank you, Captain,” she beamed. Lifting his hand in a parting wave, the prince hurried off to the Shepherds’ barracks, checking the baths and ensuring the water was hot and clean before making his way to the castle kitchens to check on dinner...and that was the limit of his patience: rather than return to Lissa, he stopped at the first window he came to, breaking open the violet wax and eagerly reading the words behind the seal: 

Dear Chrom,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and good spirits, and warm and well besides should the snows have come by the time this reaches you. Though conditions in the desert are little different than they were during your visit, aside from slightly cooler days and colder nights, the weather in the Pass grows more inhospitable by the day. Wyverns do poorly in the cold, as their scales are ill-suited to preserving warmth, and I don’t imagine pegasi fare much better, so I fear this may be the last letter that reaches you before the spring thaw makes it safe to traverse the mountains once more.

I’m overjoyed to hear that justice has been done to your satisfaction, and I only wish I could have attended to witness it done myself. I am forever grateful to Lady Maribelle for her efforts in bringing this to pass, and hope that we might someday meet so that I may thank her in person for taking on such a task for a man she had never met. I pray the opportunity presents itself soon, for I greatly look forward to meeting the friends and allies you told me so much about during our time together. 

I was unaware that Ylisse honored Grima’s Name in any form, let alone a festival for children! Here in Plegia it is undoubtedly our most beloved festival, a night to welcome the spirits of those gone before us and share our lives with them once more. Grima’s Night falls on the longest night of the year, and it is said to be the day when His Powers are at their peak even in death: on that night, the souls gone to His Embrace may return to the world to reunite with their families, and so we welcome them with food and song and spend the hours from sunset to sunrise telling them of the events since they last joined us. My part in it is to conduct the ritual call, invoking Grima to allow our friends and families to join us at the start of the celebration, though it is a duty my father conducted long before I did, rather than a new one specific to the sovereign. The people of Plegia take heart in it, though, so I am happy to speak the words for them. 

Spring is a fitting time to celebrate the new year, though one we would have some difficulty honoring, given the desert clime. The new year here is honored on the first new moon following Grima’s Night, marking a time of reflection on the year past and expectation for the one to come. My hope at the start of the year past was that I might lay the groundwork for peace in the months ahead; my prayer for the next is that I might see you again. 

Affectionately Yours,

Robin

Chrom slid to the floor beneath the window, feeling his heart pounding against his ribs. For all his anticipation, all his excitement, _nothing_ could have prepared him for those words, and he pinched himself experimentally to make sure he wasn’t dreaming them -- but despite the jolt of pain, he still held a letter, and the words remained exactly as he’d read.

Rising unsteadily to his feet, he read the letter again, stumbling over the last few lines and going over them several more times just to be sure he wasn’t mistaking something. But they never changed. _‘Affectionately Yours.’_

He felt the smile breaking across his face, warm as the sun through a storm. Turning on his heel, he made his way toward the parlour where Emm always took her afternoon tea, a hazy idea solidifying from the thoughts buzzing through his mind. He was certain she would be able to help him plan...and as he folded the letter and tucked it into his tunic, just over his heart, he vowed to make it real. 

***

No answer came. 

Logically, Robin knew that this was nothing to be concerned about. The Pass had grown inhospitable, and he had no intention of endangering the wyvern patrols for something so frivolous as a letter. But every time he tried to sleep, he found himself turning the words he’d written over and over in his head. A brazen choice of parting phrase, but knowing that it was likely the last message he would be able to send...perhaps it had made him too bold. What if it was ill-received? What if he had somehow misjudged Chrom’s intentions? What if, what if…

The endless fretting got him nowhere, and made him feel no more assured. So he did his best to focus on his duties, instead: performing the ritual call on Grima’s Night, reflecting upon himself and his goals for the new year, the promised tour of Plegia...at least during his waking hours, it managed to distract him from the personal matters gnawing on his nerves. 

Beginning in the northeastern desert villages, the procession traveled through the Midmire and on into the western scrubland, visiting every harbor city and woodland hamlet dotting the trails leading south. Upon reaching the tip of the peninsula, they crossed to the archipelago, stopping at every town on every island before returning to the mainland and proceeding east along the southern plains; and when they returned to the desert, they spent a day or night in each of the settlements sheltered by Grima’s Bones as they made their way back to the capital. 

By the time they arrived, there was a letter waiting for him. But not the one he had expected. 

For all his excitement and trepidation when he took hold of it, the seal that greeted him was not Chrom’s deep blue, but the spring green of the Exalt herself. Breaking it open with somewhat unsteady hands, he read the message with a growing sense of wonder: 

To Robin Fell, Sovereign of Plegia,

We hope this letter finds you well and pray the new year has thus far been a kind one for you and yours. Our brother, Prince Chrom of House Ylisse, has spoken at length with us through the seasons since his return from your nation, and we are overjoyed by the budding peace his time with you has fostered. There is much more work to be done, however, and we hope that the year ahead may afford us many opportunities to see it through. 

To that end, we wish to offer unto Plegia all the aid we can muster in restoring the villages destroyed by our predecessor’s crimes against you and your people. As we write this at the waning of the half moon, the Border Pass has once more become safe for messengers to traverse, and we expect that shortly it will be clear for travelers, as well. By the full moon, we anticipate that our caravan will be fully stocked and ready to depart; should it be amenable, we would have them meet you at the Border Pass at the next full moon to follow. 

With Sincerest Regards,

Her Grace Exalt Emmeryn of House Ylisse

He re-read it once. Then again. Just to be sure he had not somehow mistaken the words. And by the time he had finished it twice more, his mind was spinning through plans, calculating what needed to be done, the shortest amount of time it would take to complete, and a reasonable estimation of how quickly it could be finished, to ensure that they could in fact meet the halidom’s party at their offered date. The letter had arrived only shortly before he had, the moon was only just coming to new...so he took it directly to the council, proposed his response, and with their unanimous approval wrote his reply with all the care and haste he could. Passing it off to the wyvern riders, he set about gathering volunteers -- many of them displaced refugees overjoyed by the prospect of seeing their home restored at last -- and native supplies by their recommendation; by the next new moon, with most everything in place, they made their way out into the desert, the Border envoy speeding ahead to greet the Ylissean caravan and see them safely through the mountains. 

Riding through the valley at the front of the party, Robin tried to steady his breath. _Ylisse_ reaching out with an offer like this would have been unthinkable a year ago -- still seemed unthinkable _now,_ when he stopped to consider -- but his heart soared to see his hopes from the year before rewarded so profoundly. The contents of one letter had dwarfed every one of his prospects for the months ahead, and those had seemed grand when he chose them: securing another meeting with the halidom to finalize details of a flier exchange, possibly negotiating a personal visit with them…

Perhaps those ambitions were not so far out of reach as he’d thought. 

The horns sounded as he approached the cliffs. Sitting straight and holding his head high, Robin cleared the final ridge, looking down into the canyon…

His heart leapt into his throat. 

Even from a distance, he recognized the trio standing near the center of the Border Pass. Sully’s fiery curls made her grin seem even warmer than he remembered, while Sumia’s long hair had been braided back and woven through with violets...and standing between them, Chrom beamed when he caught the sovereign’s eye. Like the rest of the group behind them with their horses and wagons, none wore anything more than leather padding for protection on the road, or carried more than work knives or hatchets, with the prince as the sole exception -- for secured at his hip was an obsidian dagger, its hilt forged in the shape of a dragon with wings outstretched, resting in deep blue sheath embossed with silver.

Picking their way down from the cliffs, it took all Robin’s force of will not to canter across the valley to meet them. While Mustafa helped Henry and Tharja down, the sovereign dismounted himself, unable to hide his smile as he greeted the Ylisseans with open arms. “How wonderful to see you again so soon! I had no idea you were set to rejoin us with the halidom’s convoy, or I would have come better prepared...”

The cavalier elbowed Chrom hard enough to make him stumble forward, and Robin swore he saw a faint blush of color staining the prince’s cheeks. “Oh. Uh. Yeah, about that. I...w-well, I’d meant to send this before we left, but things got...pretty chaotic pretty quickly with all the preparations…”

Reaching into his satchel, Chrom removed a near inch thick stack of letters, all bearing a familiar blue wax seal; taking the top one, he offered it to the sovereign with a smile, nervously straightening the edges of the others while Robin broke open the one he held and began to read: 

Dear Robin,

I hope this letter finds you well. It’s hard to believe that almost three months have passed since I heard from you last, but I keep hoping that your tour is treating you well. It must take months to go all the way around Plegia, even if the weather cooperates. Here in Ylisse it definitely doesn’t, which usually makes things take a lot longer. If you started just after the new year, maybe you’ll be home by the time spring thaws out the Border Pass. Then this has a chance of reaching you, along with all the other ones I’ve written but haven’t been able to send.

I’ve spent a lot of time in the last few months talking with Emm about my visit with you, and everything our father did when he invaded. She wants to help as much as I do, and the harvest last year was a good one, so it feels like we have a chance this spring to start making changes on both sides of the border. We can supply materials, resources, and manpower to help rebuild the villages lost in the war, starting with the one just past the foothills that we visited together. I’ve talked to Miriel, too, and she’s come up with some really interesting ideas for how to restore the land if it was salted. I don’t actually understand any of them, but I do trust her in it. 

I intend to lead the mission again, and I’ll be choosing the party myself this time. I refuse to allow another incident like the one from the Day of Remembrance to take place, and I’m going to make that clear to everyone that comes. I want to foster the same understanding in them that you did for me, so that my people can see the same truth that I learned in my time with you, and we can usher in the peace we all hope for together. 

It feels like I’ve been missing you since we parted at the Border Pass, and I miss you a little more every day. Knowing that I’ll be able to see you again, and soon, maybe in another two months, is keeping me going, and I’ll be counting the days until I’m with you again. 

With All My Love,

Chrom

“I hope this was a good surprise,” the prince murmured, ruffling his hair sheepishly. “Maybe not as exciting as the first time we were here, but…”

Helpless laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep in Robin’s chest, leaving him dizzy and breathless in the face of Chrom’s smile. Reining himself in as best he could, the sovereign wiped his eyes with a gloved hand, beaming back at the prince as he reached out...and felt Chrom’s fingers twine with his own. There were so many things he wanted to say, _needed_ to say...but when he drew breath to speak, he knew it all came down to one thing.

“Thank you,” he breathed. “For everything.” And as the prince pulled him into a tight embrace, Robin put aside all thoughts of decorum and ceremony, returning it in kind. 

***

“So what is the proper mode of greeting?” Emm asked, folding her hands before her. “Is it preferred to curtsy, or do they shake hands?”

“Bowing is the common mode, for both men and women,” Chrom replied. “They don’t mind shaking hands, though, if you offer.”

“And it’s truly not a sleight to refer to him as simply ‘Robin’?”

“He prefers it,” Chrom grinned, thinking of how the young man groaned every time Orton called him ‘My Fell.’

“So when’s he gonna get here, anyway?” Lissa whined, scuffing the ground with the toe of her boot. “It’s been _ages!”_

“It hasn’t even been an hour,” he laughed. “The waypoint they use to stop over is a little further than our last camp was from the Pass. They’re on their way now, I’m sure.”

“You’re _sure_ you’re not making him up?” his little sister teased. “I mean, it seems pretty fishy that this guy’s willing to put up with _you_ for life.” 

“I am a blessed man, to have found someone patient enough to want me,” Chrom agreed, gently rubbing the thumb-sized garnet pinned over his heart in its delicately feathered gold setting. 

As Lissa stuck her tongue out at him, a horn sounded beyond the ridge, and they all jumped instantly to attention. Lifting his gaze, he watched a wyvern spiral down out of the sky, followed by another, and another, until four perched at the edge of the cliff...while the last banked in for a landing ahead of the Ylissean royals, folding its wings and bowing low for its rider to dismount, her fiery curls looking wilder than usual from the wind. 

“Sully!!” 

The cavalier-turned-wyvern rider had all of three seconds to brace herself before Sumia flung herself across the gap, sending them both staggering into the dragon’s side. “I’ve missed you _so much!!”_ the pegasus knight insisted, sounding somewhere between tears and laughter and looking about ready to do both. 

“I’ve missed you, too,” Sully beamed, hugging her tight. “But hey, check it out! Now we can go flying together!”

Turning his attention back to the cliffs, Chrom stood up a little straighter as three horses picked their way down the steep trail, his attention raptly focused on the bay walking between the roan and black mares. They stopped a pace away, and without hesitation the prince moved to join them, offering his hand to her rider; the young man smiled and accepted the aid...but rather than help him down, Chrom swept him up out of the saddle, spinning him once just to hear him laugh before catching him in a deep, lingering kiss. 

Somewhere behind them, he heard Lissa gag. “You hush,” the prince called over his shoulder. “It’s good to see you,” he added, finally letting Robin’s feet touch the ground. “I’ve missed you.”

“And I you, more than words can say,” the young man murmured, his hands cupping Chrom’s face before pressing another kiss to his lips.

 _“EEEEEEEEEW!!”_ Lissa groaned. 

“Get over it,” Chrom huffed, striding over to tousle her pigtails. “Robin, this delicate princess--”

“I’m _not delicate!”_ she protested.

“--is my little sister, Lissa,” he continued. “And this is my older sister Emmeryn, Exalt of Ylisse. Emm, Lissa, this is Robin, Plegia’s sovereign. And my fiancé,” he added smugly. 

“Yeah, I kinda guessed that last part,” his younger sister scoffed, sticking her tongue out. 

“Hey, at least you got it right this time,” Henry snickered from somewhere behind him. “Remember how you thought _Tharja_ was the sovereign once?”

 _“Henry,”_ he hissed, making an emphatic shushing gesture. 

“You did _what!?”_ Lissa asked, a wicked grin cutting across her face. 

“It was _hilarious!!”_ the dark mage cackled. “He made this whole big impressive speech to ‘Robin’ while looking _right at Tharja,_ I thought I was gonna _die_ of laughter!”

“And _I_ thought I might die of second-hand embarrassment,” Tharja snorted, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. 

“You never told me _that_ part,” Emmeryn remarked, a teasing edge to her voice. 

“Why, Henry?” Chrom groaned, burying his face in Robin’s shoulder (and feeling the young man pat his hair comfortingly). 

“And you’re still marrying him... _why?”_ his younger sister prompted. 

“I feel it’s important to have a partner who’s able to make you laugh,” the sovereign chuckled. “And Chrom is quite the expert in that regard, in all the best of ways.”

Lifting his head again, the prince briefly touched his forehead to Robin’s before stepping aside, watching his older sister approach. “It’s an honor to finally meet you, Robin,” Emmeryn beamed, bowing deeply before him.

“The honor is mine, Your Grace,” the sovereign smiled, returning it in kind.

“Oh, please, Emmeryn is fine,” she assured him. “I still find it unthinkable that it’s taken four years and an occasion as significant as my brother’s engagement for us to meet. I do hope you’ll forgive the delay.”

Robin waved the apology gently away. “Think nothing of it. What matters most is that you are here to share in this with us. There is so much to show you on the way to the capital -- the desert is coming alive again thanks in no small part to your aid, and I am delighted that you might behold Plegia in her truest sense because of it.”

“I look forward to every moment. I’ve heard so many wonderful things from Chrom after his visits…” 

“Then let us not delay,” the sovereign laughed. “There is much to see in the time we have: perhaps we might arrange for you to winter with us here next year, since we are so gladly taking up your offer to do the same in Ylisse following the wedding.”

“That sounds lovely,” Emm giggled. “But yes, let’s waste not a moment: lead the way, Robin.”

“With pleasure,” he bowed, moving back to Amber’s side and pulling himself easily up onto the mare’s back; when he offered his hand down, Chrom took it without hesitation, settling in behind the saddle and wrapping his arms tight around his soon-to-be-husband’s waist...and together they made their way across the border into Plegia, the echoes of their conversation ringing warm and clear throughout the valley. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up so much longer than I intended. My soft estimate going in had been roughly 40k words, like the last two Chrobin Week fics I put together; I blew past that in Chapter **5**. And then wrote another **15k words** on top of it. 
> 
> So thank you for giving this story a chance. Thank you for taking the time to read through my love letter to a nation and a people that deserved far better from their source material and who I hope I've been able to do justice to in the realms of fanfiction. And in particular, thank you to [Lia](https://sunbiased.tumblr.com/) for putting this celebration together and the wonderful prompts that gave me an opportunity to write this. 
> 
> To everyone who gets here: thank you. ❤


End file.
